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Before the flying sword had reached the ground , Sir Robert's blade had passed through his adversary's body." ( Page 1 19 .) 



In Honour’s Cause 


B Uale of 

tbe Dags of ©eorge tbe first 


BY 

GEO. MANVILLE FENN 

AUTHOR OF ' * ' 

“cormorant crag,” “first in the field,” “the adventures 

OF DON LAVINGTON,” ETC., BTC. 



Vi 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY LANCELOT SPEED 





"> F co 

UQI IS 

^ C WA 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1896 



I 





Copyright, 1896 

BY 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
A ll rights reserved. 


) 




> y 


>> 


BURR PRINTING HOU8E, 
NEW YORK. 


CONTENTS 


3HAP, 

I. TWO YOUNG COURTIERS . 

II. SIGNS OF THE TIMES 

III. GETTING INTO HOT WATER 

IV. FRANK’S EYES BEGIN TO OPEN . 

V. THE OFFICER OF THE GUARDS . 

VI. FRANK FEEDS THE DUCKS 

VII. HOW FRANK GOWAN GREW ONE YEAR OLDER IN ONE 

DAY 

VIII. THE TRAITORS’ HEADS 

IX. FRANK HAS A BAD NIGHT 

X. IN THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA 

XI. ANOTHER INVITATION 

XII. THE TROUBLE GROWS 

XIII. A VERY BAD DINNER 

XIV. FRANK’S DREADFUL DAWN 

XV. THE CONQUEROR 

XVI. FRANK HAS A PAINFUL TASK . 

XVII. THE KING’S DECREE . 

XVIII. THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION, AND 
STARTLED .... 

XIX. IT WAS NOT FANCY . 

XX. LADY GOWAN AT BAY 

XXI. FOR DEAR LIFE 


FRANK IS 


PAGE 

7 
1 6 

22 

3 2 

38 

49 

57 

66 

75 

79 

85 

92 

97 

109 

120 

127 

135 

148 

162 

i74 

.83 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

XXII. SAVED! . . . , . . . *193 

XXIII. MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS I97 

XXIV. WITH PRINCE AND PRINCESS .... 209 

XXV. FRANK BOILS OVER 2 1 8 

XXVI. “WHAT DID HE SAY?’’ 229 

XXVII. THE BREACH WIDENS 2 39 

XXVIII. A NIGHT ALARM 247 

XXIX. A WATCH NIGHT 2^2 

XXX. A STRANGE AWAKENING 264 

XXXI. IN MORE HOT WATER 27 1 

XXXII. A BIG WIGGING 275 

XXXIII. FRANK’S FAITH 283 

XXXIV. A STIRRING ENCOUNTER 287 

XXXV. FRANK ASKS LEAVE TO GO ^01 

XXXVI. THE WORST NEWS ^08 

XXXVII. UNDER THE DARK CLOUD 6 

XXXVIII. FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN .... ^24 

XXXIX. AT THE LAST MOMENT ^35 

XL. ON THE GREAT NORTH ROAD .... ^44 

XLI. THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE . . . . - 3^3 

XLII. AFTER THE FAILURE ^70 

XLIII. A MEETING BETWEEN FRIENDS .... 377 

XLIV. THE PRISON PASS ^88 

XLV. CAPTAIN MURRAY’S NEWS ^95 

• ••••• . 40^) 


XLVI. AU REVOIR 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


CHAPTER I. 


TWO YOUNG COURTIERS. 


H A — ha — ha — ha !” 

A regular ringing, hearty, merry laugh — just 
such an outburst of mirth as a strong, healthy boy of 
sixteen, in the full, bright, happy time of youth, and 
without a trouble on his mind, can give vent to when he 
sees something that thoroughly tickles his fancy. 

Just at the same time the heavy London clouds which 
had been hanging all the morning over the Park opened 
a little to show the blue sky, and a broad ray of sun- 
shine struck in through the anteroom window and lit up 
the gloomy, handsome chamber. 

Between them — the laugh and the sunshine — they 
completely transformed the place, as the lad who laughed 
threw himself into a chair, and then jumped up again in 
a hurry to make sure that he had not snapped in two 
the sword he wore in awkward fashion behind him. 

The lad’s companion, who seemed to be about a couple 
of years older, faced round suddenly from the other end 
of the room, glanced sharply at one of the doors, and 
then said hurriedly : 

“ I say, you mustn’t laugh like that here.” 


8 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ It isn’t broken,” said he who had helped to make 
the solemn place look more cheerful. 

“ What, your sword ? Lucky for you. I told you to 
take care how you carried it. Easy enough when you 
are used to one.” 

The speaker laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of 
his own, pressed it down a little, and stood in a stiff, 
deportment-taught attitude, as if asking the other to 
study him as a model. 

“ But you mustn’t burst out into guffaws like that in 
the Palace.” 

“ Seems as if you mustn’t do anything you like here,” 
said the younger lad. “ Wish I was back at Winches- 
ter.” 

“ Pooh, schoolboy ! I shall have enough to do before 
I make anything of you.” 

“ You never will. I’m sick of it already : no games, 
no runs down by the river or over the fields ; nothing to 
do but dress up in these things, and stand like an image 
all day. I feel just like a pet monkey in a cage.” 

“ And look it,” said the other contemptuously. 

“ What !” said the boy, flushing up to the temples, 
as he took a step toward the speaker, and with flashing 
eyes looked him up and down. “ Well, if you come to 
that, so do you, with your broad skirts, saltbox pockets, 
lace, and tied-up hair. See what thin legs you’ve got 
too !” 

“ You insolent no, I didn’t mean that and an 

angry look gave place to a smile. ” Lay your feathers 
down, Master Frank Gowan, and don’t draw your 
skewer ; that’s high treason in the King’s palace. You 
mustn’t laugh here when you’re on duty. If there’s 
any fighting to be done, they call in the guard ; and if 
any one wants to quarrel, he must go somewhere else.” 

“ I don’t want to quarrel,” said the boy, rather sulkily. 

“ You did a moment ago, for all your hackles were 
sticking up like a gamecock’s.” 

‘‘Well, I don’t now, Drew,” said the boy, smiling 


TWO YOUNG COURTIERS. 


9 


frankly ; “ but the place is all so stiff and formal and 
dull, and I can’t help wanting to be back in the coun- 
try. I used to think one was tied down there at the 
school, but that was free liberty to this.” 

“ Oh, you young barbarian ! School and the coun- 
try ! Right enough for boys.” 

“ Well, we’re boys.” 

The other coughed slightly, took a measured pace or 
two right and left, and gave a furtive glance at his hand- 
some, effeminate face and slight form in the glass. 
Then he said, rather haughtily : 

‘‘You are, of course ; but I should have thought that 
you might have begun to look upon me as a man.” 

“ Oh, I will, if you like,” said the other, smiling, — 
“ a very young one, though. Of course you’re ever so 
much older than I am. But there, I’m going to try and 
like it ; and I like you, Forbes, for being so good to me. 
I’m not such a fool as not to know that I’m a sort of 
unlicked cub, and you will go on telling me what I 
ought to do and what I oughtn’t. I can play games 
as well as most fellows my age ; but all this stiff, starchy 
court etiquette sickens me.” 

“ Yes,” said his companion, with a look of disgust on 
his face ; “ miserable, clumsy Dutch etiquette. As dif- 
ferent from the grand, graceful style of the old regime 
and of St. Germains as chalk is from cheese.” 

“ I say,” said the younger of the pair merrily, after 
imitating his companion’s glances at the doors, ” you 
must not talk like that here.” 

“ Talk like what ?” said the elder haughtily. 

“ Calling things Dutch, and about St. Germains. I 
say, isn’t that high treason ?” 

“ Pooh ! — Well, yes, I suppose you’re right. Your 
turn now. But we won’t quarrel, Franky.” 

‘‘Then, don’t call me that,” said the boy sharply; 
“ Frank, if you like. I did begin calling you Drew. It’s 
shorter and better than Andiew. I say, I am ever so 
much obliged to you.” 


IO 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Don’t mention it. I promised Sir Robert I would 
look after you. ” 

“ Yes, my father told me.” 

“And I like Lady Gowan. She’s as nice as 
she is handsome. My mother was something like 
her.” 

“ Then she must have been one of the dearest, sweet- 
est, and best ladies that ever lived,” cried the boy 
warmly. 

“ Thank ye, Frank,” said the youth, smiling and lay- 
ing his arm in rather an affected manner upon the speak- 
er’s shoulder, as he crossed his legs and again posed 
himself with his left hand upon his sword-hilt. But 
there was no affectation in the tone of the thanks ex- 
pressed ; in fact, there was a peculiar quiver in his voice 
and a slight huskiness of which he was self-conscious, 
and he hurriedly continued : 

“ Oh yes, I like you. I did at first ; you seemed so 
fresh and daisy-like amongst all this heavy Dutch for- 
mality. I’ll tell you everything, and if you can’t have 
the country, I’ll see that you do have some fun. We’ll 
go out together, and you must see my father. He’s a 
fine, dashing officer ; he ought to have had a good com- 
mand given him. I say, Frank, he’s great friends with 
Sir Robert.” 

“ Is he ? My father never said so.” 

“ Mine did ; but — er — I think there are reasons just 
now why they don’t want it to be known. You see your 
father’s in the King’s Guards.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, and mine isn’t. He is not very fond of the 
House of Brunswick.” 

“ I say, mind what you are saying.” 

“ Of course. I shouldn’t say it to any one else. But, 
I say, what made you burst out into that roar of laughter 
about nothing ?” 

” It wasn’t about nothing,*’ said Frank, with a mirth' 
ful look in his eyes. 


TWO YOUNG COURTIERS. 


n 


“ What was it then ? See anything out of the win- 
dow ?” 

“ Oh no ; it was in this room.” 

“ Well, what was it ?” 

“ Oh, never mind.” 

“ Here, I thought we were going to be great friends.” 

“ Of course.” 

” Then friends must confide in one another. Why 
don’t you speak ?” 

“ I don’t want to offend you.” 

” Come, out with it.” 

“ Well, I was laughing at you.” 

“ Why ?” 

“ To see you admiring yourself in the glass there.” 

Andrew Forbes made an angry gesture, but laughed 
it off. 

” Well, the Prince’s pages are expected to look well,” 
he said. 

“ You always look well without. But I wish you 
wouldn’t do that sort of thing ; it makes you seem so 
girlish.” 

There was another angry gesture. 

“ I can’t help my looks.” 

“ There, now, you’re put out again.” 

“ No, not a bit,” said the youth hastily. “ I say, 
though, you don’t think much of the King, do you ?” 

“ Oh yes,” said Frank thoughtfully ; “ of course.” 

“ Why ?” 

“ Why ? Well, because he’s the King, of course. 
Don’t you ?” 

“ No ! I don’t think anything of him. He’s only a 
poor German prince, brought over by the Whigs. I 
always feel ready to laugh in his face.” 

“ I say,” cried Frank, looking at his companion in 
horror, ” do you know what you are saying ?” 

“ Oh yes ; and I don’t think a great deal of the Prince. 
My father got me here ; but I don’t feel in my place, 
and I’m not going to sacrifice myself, even if I am one 


12 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


of the pages. I believe in the Stuarts, and I always 
shall.” 

“ This is more treasonable than what you said be- 
fore.” 

“ Well, it’s the truth.” 

‘ * Perhaps it is. I say, you’re a head taller than I am. ’ ’ 

“ Yes, I know that.” 

“ But you don’t seem to know that if you talk }ike 
that you’ll soon be the same height.” 

“ What, you think my principles will keep me stand- 
ing still, while yours make you grow tall ?” 

“ No. I think if it gets known you’ll grow short all 
in a moment.” 

“ They’ll chop my head off ? Pooh ! I’m not afraid. 
You won’t blab.” 

“ But you’ve no business to be here.” 

“ Oh yes, I have. Plenty think as I do. You will 
one of these days.” 

” Never ! What, go against the King !” 

“ This German usurper, you mean. Oh, you’ll come 
over to our side.” 

“ What, with my father in the King’s Guards, and 
my mother one of the Princess’s ladies of the bed-cham- 
ber ! Nice thing for a man to have a son who turned 
traitor. ” 

“ What a red-hot Whig you are, Frank. You’re too 
young and too fresh to London and the court to under- 
stand these things. He’s King because a few Whigs 
brought him over here. If you were to go about 
London, you’d find every one nearly on the other 
side.” 

“ I don’t believe it.” 

“ Come for a few walks with me, and I’ll take you 
where you can hear people talking about it.” 

“ I don’t want to hear people talk treason, and I can’t 
get away. ” 

“ Oh yes, you can ; I’ll manage it. Don’t you want 
to go out ?” 


TWO YOUNG COURTIERS. 


13 


“ Yes ; but not to hear people talk as you say. They 
must be only the scum who say such things.” ' 

” Better be the scum which rises then the dregS;which 
sink to the bottom. Come, I know you’d like a run.” 

“ I’ll go with you in the evening, and try and 'catch 
some of the fish in that lake.” 

“ What, the King’s carp ! Ha — ha ! You want old 
Bigwig to give you five pounds.” 

“ Old Bigwig — who’s he ?” 

You know ; the King.” 

“Sh!” ; X ;; 

“ Pooh ! no one can hear.” 

“ But what do you mean about the five pounds ?” 

“ Didn’t you hear? They say he wrote to some one 
in Hanover saying that he could not understand the 
English, for when he came to the Palace they told him 
it was his, and when he looked out of the window he 
saw a park with a long canal in it, and they told him 
that was his too. Then next day the ranger sent him a 
big brace of carp out of it, and when they told him he 
was to behave like a prince and give the messenger five 
guineas, he was astonished. Oh, he isn’t a bit like a 
king.” 

“ I say, do be quiet. I don’t want you to get into 
trouble.” 

“ Of course you don’t,” said the lad merrily. “ But 
you mustn’t think of going fishing now. Hark ! there 
are the Guards.” 

He hurried to the window, through which the tram- 
pling of horses and jingling of spurs could be heard, 
and directly after the leaders of a long line of horse 
came along between the rows of trees, the men gay in 
their scarlet and gold, their accoutrements glittering in 
the sunshine. 

‘‘Look well, don’t they?” said Andrew Forbes. 
“ They ought to have given my father a command like 
that. If he had a few regiments of horse, and as many 
of foot, he’ d soon make things different for old England.’ ’ 


14 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ I say, do be quiet, Drew. You’ll be getting in 
trouble, I know you will. Why can’t you let things 
rest ?” 

“ Because I’m a Royalist.” 

“ No, you’re not ; you’re a Jacobite. I say, why do 
they call them Jacobites ? What Jacob is it who leads 
them ?” 

“ And you just fresh from Wykeham ! Where’s your 
Latin ?” 

“ Oh, I see,” cried the boy : “ Jacobus — James.” 

“ That’s right ; you may go up. I wish I was an offi- 
cer in the Guards.” 

“ Behave yourself then, and some day the Prince may 
get you a commission.” 

“ Not he. Perhaps I shall have one without. Well, 
you'll go with me this evening ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know.” 

‘‘That means you would if you could. Well, I’ll 
manage it. And I’ll soon show you what the people in 
London think about the King.” 

“ Sh ! some one coming.” 

The two lads darted from the window as one of the 
doors was thrown open, and an attendant made an an- 
nouncement which resulted in the pages going to the 
other end to open the farther door and draw back to 
allow the Prince and Princess with a little following of 
ladies pass through, one of the last of the group turning 
to smile at Frank Gowan and kiss her hand. 

The boy turned to his companion, looking flushed and 
proud as the door was closed after the retiring party. 

“ How handsome the Princess looked !” he said. 

“ Hush !” said Forbes. “ Pretty well. Not half so 
nice as your mother ; you ought to be proud of her, 
Frank. ” 

“ I am,” said the boy. 

“ But what a pity !” 

“ What’s a pity ?” 

“ That she should be in the Princess’s train.” 


TWO YOUNG COURTIERS. 


i5 


“ A pity ! Why the Princess makes her quite a 
friend.” 

“ More pity still. Well, we shall be off duty soon, 
and then I’ll get leave for us to go.” 

“ I don’t think I want to now.” 

“ Well I do, and you’d better come and take care of 
me, or perhaps I shall get into a scrape.” 

“ No, you will not. You only talk as you do to 
banter me.” 

“Think so?” said Andrew, with a peculiar smile. 
“ Well, we shall see. But you’ll come ?” 

“Yes,” said Frank readily, “ to keep you from get- 
ting into a scrape.” 


CHAPTER II. 


SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 

T HE water in the canal looked ruddy golden in the 
light glowing in the west, as the two pages passed 
through the courtyard along beneath the arches, where 
the soldiers on guard saluted them, and reached the 
long mall planted with trees. 

“ Halt ! One can breathe here,” said Frank, with his 
eyes brightening. “ Come along ; let’s have a run.” 

“ Quiet, quiet ! What a wild young colt you are. 
This isn’t the country.” 

“ No ; but it looks like a good makeshift !” cried 
Frank. 

” Who’s disloyal now ? Nice way to speak of his 
Majesty’s Park ! I say, you’re short enough as it is.” 

“ No, I’m not. I’m a very fair height for my age. 
It’s you who are too long.” 

” Never mind that ; but it’s my turn to talk. Sup- 
pose you get cut shorter for saying disloyal things 
under the window of the Palace.” 

“ Stuff 1 Rubbish !” 

” Is it? They give it to the people they call rebels 
pretty hard for as trifling things,” said Andrew, flush- 
ing a little. “ They flogged three soldiers to death the 
other day for wearing oak apples in their caps.” 

“What? Why did they wear oak apples in their 
caps ?” 

“ Because it was King Charles’s day ; and they’ve 
fined and imprisoned and hung people for all kinds of 
what they call rebellious practices.” 


SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 


i7 


“Then you’d better be careful, Master Drew,” said 
Frank merrily. “ I say, my legs feel as if they were full 
of pins and needles, with standing about so much doing 
nothing. It’s glorious out here. Come along ; I’ll race 
you to the end of this row of trees.” 

“ With the people who may be at the windows watch- 
ing us ! Where’s your dignity ?” 

“ Have none. They wouldn’t know it was us. We’re 
not dressed up now, and we look like any one else.” 

“ I hope not,” said Andrew, drawing himself up. 

Frank laughed, and his companion looked nettled. 

It is nothing to laugh at. Do you suppose I want 
to be taken for one of the mob ?” 

“ Of course I don’t. But, I say, look. I saw a fish 
rise with a regular flop. That rnust be a carp. They 
are fond of leaping out of the water with a splash. I 
say, this isn’t a lake, is it ? Looks like a river.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — yes, I do. Some one said it’s 
part of a stream that comes down from out beyond 
Tyburn way, where they hang the people.” 

“ Ugh ! Horrid ! But look here, the water seems 
beautifully clear. Let’s get up to-morrow morning and 
have a bathe. I’ll swim you across there and back.” 

“ Tchah ! I say, Frank, what a little savage you are.” 

“ Didn’t know there was anything savage in being 
fond of swimming.” 

“ Well, I did. A man isn’t a fish.” 

“ No,” said Frank, laughing ; “ he’s flesh.” 

“ You know, now you belong to the Prince’s house- 
hold, and live in the King’s Palace, you must forget all 
these boyish follies.” 

“ Oh dear !” sighed Frank. 

“ We’ve got to support the dignity of the establish- 
ment as gentlemen in the Prince’s train. It wants it 
badly enough, with all these sausage-eating Vans and 
Vons and Herrs. We must do it while things are in this 
state for the sake of old England.” 

“ I wish I had never come here,” said Frank dismally. 


i8 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ No, I don’t,” he added cheerfully. “ I am close to 
my mother, and I see father sometimes. I say, didn't 
he look well at the head of his company yesterday ?” 

“ Splendid !” cried Andrew warmly. “ Here, cheer 
up, young one ; you’ll soon get to like it ; and one of 
these days we’ll both be marching at the heads of our 
companies.” 

“ Think so ?” cried Frank eagerly. 

“ I’m sure of it. Of course I like our uniform, and 
thousands of fellows would give their ears to be pages 
at the Palace ; but you don’t suppose I mean to keep 
on being a sort of lapdog in the anteroom. No. Wait 
a bit. There’ll be grand times by-and-by. We must 
be like the rest of the best people, looking forward to 
the turn of the tide.” 

Frank glanced quickly at the tall, handsome lad at 
his side, and quickened his pace and lengthened his 
stride to keep up with him, for he had drawn himself up 
and held his head back as if influenced by thoughts be- 
yond the present. But he slackened down directly. 

“ No need to make ourselves hot,” he said. “ You’d 
like to run, you little savage ; but it won’t do now. Let 
the mob do that. Look ! that’s Lord Ronald’s car- 
riage. Quick ! do as I do.” 

He doffed his hat to the occupant of the clumsy vehi- 
cle, Frank following his example ; and they were re- 
sponded to by a handsome, portly man with a bow and 
smile. 

“ I say,” said Frank, ” how stupid a man looks in a 
great wig like that.” 

“ Bah ! It is ridiculous. Pretty fashion these Dutch- 
men have brought in.” 

“ Dutchmen ! What Dutchmen ?” 

“Oh, never mind, innocence,” said Andrew, with a 
half laugh. “ Just think of how handsome the gentle- 
men of the Stuart time looked in their doublets, buff 
boots, long natural hair, and lace. This fashion is dis- 
gusting. Here’s old Granthill coming now,” he con- 


SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 


19 


tinued, as the trampling of horses made him glance 
back. “ Don’t turn round ; don’t see him.” 

“ Very well,” said Frank with a laugh ; “ but who- 
ever he is, I don’t suppose he’ll mind whether I bow or 
not.” 

“ Whoever he is !” cried Andrew contemptuously. 
“ I say, don’t you know that he is one of the King’s 
Ministers ?” 

“ No,” said Frank thoughtfully. ” Oh yes, I do ; I 
remember now. Of course. But I’ve never thought 
about these things. He’s the gentleman, isn’t he, that 
they say is unpopular ?” 

“ Well, you are partly right. He is unpopular ; but 
I don’t look upon him as a gentleman. Hark ! hear 
that ?” he shouted excitedly, as he looked eagerly tow- 
ard where the first carriage had passed round the curve 
ahead of him on its way toward Westminster. 

‘‘ Yes, there’s something to see. I know ; it must be 
the soldiers. Come along ; I want to see them.” 

“ No, it isn’t the soldiers ; it’s the people cheering 
Lord Ronald on his way to the Parliament House. They 
like him. Every one does. He knows my father, and 
yours too. He knows me. Didn’t you see him smile ? 
I’ll introduce you to him the first time there’s a levee.” 

“ No, I say, don’t,” said Frank, flushing. “ He’d 
laugh at me.” 

“ So do I now. But this won’t do, Frank ; you 
mustn’t be so modest.” 

The second carriage which had passed them rolled on 
round the curve in the track of the first and disappeared, 
Frank noticing that many of the promenaders turned 
their heads to look after it. Then his attention was 
taken up by his companion’s words. 

“ Look here,” he cried ; ” I want to show you Fleet 
Street. ” 

“ Fleet Street,” said Frank, — “ Fleet Street. Isn’t 
that where Temple Bar is ?” 

“ Well done, countryman ! Quite right.” 


20 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Then I don’t want to see it.” 

“ Why ?” said Andrew, turning to him in surprise at 
the change which had come over his companion, who 
spoke in a sharp, decided way. 

“ Because I read about the two traitors’ heads being 
stuck up there on Temple Bar, and it seems so horrible 
and barbarous.” 

” So it is, Frank,” whispered Andrew, grasping his 
companion’s arms. “ It’s horrible and cowardly. It’s 
brutal ; and — and — I can’t find words bad enough for 
the act of insulting the dead bodies of brave men after 
they’ve executed them. But never mind ; it will be 
different some day. There, I always knew I should like 
you, young one. You’ve got the right stuff in you for 
making a brave, true gentleman ; and — and I hope I 
have.” 

” I’m sure you have,” cried Frank warmly. 

“ Then we will not pass under the old city gate, with 
its horrible, grinning heads : but I must take you to 
Fleet Street ; so we’ll go to Westminster Stairs and have 
a boat — it will be nice on the river.” 

“ Yes, glorious on an evening like this,” cried Frank 
excitedly ; “ and, I say, we can go round by Queen 
Anne Street.” 

“ What for ? It’s out of the way.” 

“ Well, only along by the Park side ; I want to look 
up at our windows.” 

“ But your mother’s at the Palace.” 

“ Father might be at home ; he often sits at one of 
the windows looking over the Park.” 

“ Come along then,” cried Andrew mockingly ; “ the 
good little boy shall be taken where he can see his father 
and mother, and — hark! listen! hear that?” he cried 
excitedly. 

“ Yes. What can it be ?” 

“ The people hooting and yelling at Gran thill. 
They’re mobbing his carriage. Run, run ! I must see 
that.” 


SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 


21 


Andrew Forbes trotted off, forgetting all his dignity 
as one of the Princess’s pages, and heedless now in his 
excitement of what any of the well-dressed promenaders 
might think ; while, laughing to himself the while, 
Frank kept step with him, running easily and looking 
quite cool when the tall, overgrown lad at his side, who 
was unused to outdoor exercise, dropped into a walk, 
panting heavily. 

“ Too late !” he said, in a tone of vexation. “ There 
the carriage goes through Storey’s Gate. Look at the 
crowd after it. They’ll hoot him till the soldiers stop 
them. Come along. Frank ; we shall see a fight, and 
perhaps some one will be killed.” 


CHAPTER III. 


GETTING INTO HOT WATER, 


HE excitement of his companion was now commu- 



i nicated to Frank Gowan, and as fast as they could 
walk they hurried on toward the gate at the corner of 
the Park, passing knot after knot of people talking 
about the scene which had taken place. But the boy 
did not forget to look eagerly in the direction of the 
row of goodly houses standing back behind the treres, 
and facing on to the Park, before they turned out 
through the gate and found themselves in the tail of the 
crowd hurrying on toward Palace Yard. 

The crowd grew more dense till they reached the end 
of the street with the open space in front, where it was 
impossible to go farther. 

“ Let’s try and get round,” whispered Andrew. “ Do 
you hear ? They’re fighting !” 

Being young and active, they soon managed to get 
round to where they anticipated obtaining a view of the 
proceedings ; but there was nothing to see but a surg- 
ing crowd, for the most part well dressed, but leavened 
by the mob, and this was broken up from time to time 
by the passing of carriages whose horses were forced to 
walk. 

“ Oh, if we could only get close up !” said Andrew 
impatiently. “ Hark at the shouting and yelling. They 
are fighting with the soldiers now.” 

“ No, no, not yet, youngster,” said a well-dressed 
man close by them ; “it’s only men’s canes and fists.. 


GETTING INTO HOT WATER. 


2 3 


The Whigs are getting the worst of it ; so you two boys 
had better go while your heads are whole.” 

“ What do you mean ?”, 

“ Oh, I know a Whig when I see one, my lad.” 

“ Do you mean that as an insult, sir?” said Andrew 
haughtily. 

“ No,” said the gentleman, smiling; ‘‘only as a bit 
of advice.” 

“ Because if you did ” said Andrew, laying his 

hand upon his sword. 

‘‘ You would send your friends to me, boy, and then 
I should not fight. Nonsense, my lad. There, off with 
your friend while your shoes are good, and don’t raise 
your voice, or some one will find out that you are from 
the Palace. Then the news would run like wildfire, and 
you ought to know by this time what a cowardly Lon- 
don mob will do. They nearly tore Sir Marland Grant- 
hill out of his carriage just now. There, if I am not on 
your side, I speak as a friend.” 

Before Andrew could make any retort, and just as 
Frank was tugging at his arm to get him away, they 
were separated from the stranger by a rush in the crowd, 
which forced them up into a doorway, from whose step 
they saw, one after the other, no less than six men borne 
along insensible and bleeding from wounds upon the 
head, while their clothes were nearly torn from their 
backs. 

Then the shouting and yelling began to subside, and 
the two lads were forced to go with the stream, till an 
opportunity came for them to dive down a side street 
and reach the river stairs, where they took a wherry and 
were rowed east. 

“ I should like to know who that man was,” said An- 
drew, after a long silence, during which they went glid- 
ing along with the falling tide. 

“ He spoke very well,” said Frank. 

“ Yes ; but he took me for a Whig,” said the youth 
indignantly. 


24 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ But, I say, what was it all about ?” 

“ Oh, you’ll soon learn that,” replied Andrew. 

“ Is there often fighting like this going on in the 
streets ?” 

“ Every day somewhere.” 

“ But why ?” said Frank anxiously. 

“ Surely you know ! Because the Whigs have brought 
in a king that the people do not like. There, don’t talk 
about it any more now. I want to sit still and think.” 

Frank respected his companion’s silence, and thankful 
at having escaped from the heat and pressure of the 
crowd, he sat gazing at the moving panorama on either 
side, enjoying the novelty of his position. 

His musings upon what he saw were interrupted by 
his companion, who repeated his former words suddenly 
in a low, thoughtful voice, but one full of annoyance, as 
if the words were rankling in his memory. 

“ He took me for a Whig.” 

Then, catching sight of his companion’s eyes watch- 
ing him wonderingly : 

“ What say ?” he cried. “ Did you speak ?” 

“ No ; you did.” 

“ No, 1 said nothing.” 

Frank smiled. 

“ Yes, you said again that the man in the crowd took 
you for a Whig.” 

“ Did I ? Well 1 was thinking aloud then.” 

“ Where to, sir ?” asked the waterman, as he sent the 
boat gliding along past the gardens of the Temple, 
“ London Bridge ?” 

“ No ; Blackfriars.” 

A few minutes later they landed at the stairs, and, ap- 
parently quite at home in the place, Andrew led his com- 
panion in and out among the gloomy-looking streets 
and lanes of the old Alsatian district, and out into the 
continuation of what might very well be called High 
Street, London. 

“ Here we are,” he said, as he directed their steps 


GETTING INTO HOT WATER. 


25 


toward one of the narrow courts which ran north from 
the main thoroughfare ; but upon reaching the end, 
where a knot of excitable-looking men were talking 
loudly upon some subject which evidently interested 
them deeply, one of the loudest speakers suddenly 
ceased his harangue and directed the attention of his 
companions to the two lads. The result was that all 
faced round and stared at them offensively, bringing the 
colour into Andrew’s cheeks and making Frank feel un- 
comfortable. 

“ Let’s go straight on,” said the former ; and draw- 
ing himself up, he walked straight to the group, which 
extended right across the rough pavement and into the 
road, so that any one who wanted to pass along would 
be compelled to make a circuit by stepping down first 
into the dirty gutter. 

“ Keep close to me ; don’t give way,” whispered An- 
drew ; and he kept on right in the face of the staring 
little crowd, till he was brought to a standstill, not a 
man offering to budge. 

“ Will you allow us to pass ?” said Andrew haughtily. 

“ Plenty o’ room in the road,” shouted the man who 
had been speaking. “ Aren’t you going up the court ?” 

“ I do not choose to go into the muddy road, sir, be- 
cause you and your party take upon yourselves to block 
up the public way,” retorted Andrew, giving the man 
so fierce a look that for a moment or two he was some- 
what abashed, and his companions, influenced by the 
stronger will of one who was in the right, began to make 
way for the well-dressed pair. 

But the first man found his tongue directly. 

“ Here, clear the road !” he cried banteringly. 
“ Make way, you dirty blackguards, for my lords. Lie 
down, some of you, and let ’em walk over you. Lost 
your way, my lords ? Why didn’t you come in your 
carriages, with horse soldiers before and behind ? But 
it.’s no use to-day ; the Lord Mayor’s gone out to din- 
ner with his wife.” 


2 6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


A roar of coarse laughter followed this sally, which 
increased as another man shouted in imitation of mili- 
tary commands : 

“ Heads up ; draw skewers ; right forward ; 
ma-rr-rr-ch !” 

“ Scum !” said Andrew contemptuously, as they left 
the little crowd behind. 

“Is the city always like this?’’ said Frank, whose 
face now was as red as his companion’s. 

“ Yes, now,’’ said Andrew bitterly. “ That’s a speci- 
men of a Whig mob.’’ 

“ Nonsense !’’ cried Frank, rather warmly ; “ don’t 
be so prejudiced. How can you tell that they are 
Whigs ?’’ 

“ By the way in which they jumped at a chance to in- 
sult gentlemen. Horse soldiers indeed ! Draw swords ! 
Oh ! I should like to be at the head of a troop, to give 
the order and chase the dirty ruffians out of the street, 
and make my men thrash them with the flats of their 
blades till they went down on their knees in the mud 
and howled for mercy.’’ 

“ What a furious fire-eater you are, Drew,’’ cried 
Frank, recovering his equanimity. “ We ought to have 
stepped out into the road.’’ 

“ For a set of jeering ruffians like that !” cried An- 
drew. “ No. They hate to see a gentleman go by. 
London is getting disgraceful now.’’ 

“ Never mind. There, I’ve seen enough of it. Let’s 
get down to the river again, and take a boat ; it’s much 
pleasanter than being in this noisy, crowded place.’’ 

“ Not yet. We’ve a better right here than a mob like 
that. It would be running away. ” 

“ Why, how would they know ?’’ said Frank merrily. 

“ I should know, and feel as if I had disgraced my- 
self,” replied Andrew haughtily. “ Besides, I wanted 
to see a gentleman.” 

“What, up that court?” said Frank, looking curi- 
ously at his companion. 


GETTING INTO HOT WATER. 


27 


“ Yes, a gentleman up that court. There are plenty 
of gentlemen, and noblemen, too, driven nowadays to 
live in worse places than that, and hide about in holes 
and corners.” 

“ Oh, I say, don’t be so cross because a lot of idlers 
would not make way.” 

“ It isn’t that,” said the youth. “ It half maddens 
me sometimes.” 

“ Then don’t think about it. You are always talking 
about politics. I don’t undei stand much about them, 
but it seems to’ me that if people obey the laws they can 
live happily enough.” 

“ Poor Frank !” said Andrew mockingly. “ But 
never mind. You have got eveiything to learn. This 
way. ” 

The boy was thinking that he did not want to learn 
” every thing’' if the studies were to make him as irrita- 
ble and peppery as his companion, when the imperative 
order to turn came upon him by surprise, and he fol- 
lowed Andrew, who had suddenly turned into a nar- 
rower court than the one for which he had first made, 
and out of the roaring street into comparative silence. 

“ Where are you going ?” 

“ This way. We can get round by the back. I want 
to see my friend.” 

The court was only a few feet wide, and the occupants 
of the opposing houses could easily have carried on a 
conversation from the open windows ; but these occu- 
pants seemed to be too busy, for in the glimpses he ob- 
tained as they passed, Frank caught sight of workmen 
in paper caps and dirty white aprons, and boys hurry- 
ing to and fro carrying packets of paper. 

But he had not much opportunity for noticing what 
business was being carried on, for they soon reached the 
end of the court, where a fresh group of men were stand- 
ing listening to a speaker holding forth from an open 
window, and the lad fully expected a similar scene to 
that which had taken place in the main street. 


28 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


But people made way here, and Andrew, apparently 
quite at home, turned to the left along a very dirty 
lane, plunged into another court, and in and out 
two or three times in silence, along what seemed to 
the boy fresh from quaint old Winchester a perfect 
maze. 

“ I say, Drew,” he said at last, “ you must have been 
here before.” 

“ I ? Oh yes ! I know London pretty well. Now 
down here.” 

He plunged sharply now round a corner and into the 
wide court he had at first made for, but now from its 
northern end. So quick and sudden was the movement 
made that the two lads, before they could realise the 
fact, found themselves in another crowd, which filled 
this court from end to end. The people composing it 
were principally of the rough class they had seen 
grouped at the lower part, but fully half were workmen 
in their shirt sleeves, many of them with faces blackened 
by their occupation, while a smaller portion was well 
dressed, and kept on moving about and talking earnest- 
ly to the people around. 

“ Too late,” said Andrew, half to himself. 

“ Yes ; we shall have to go round and reach the street 
farther along,” said Frank quietly. “We don’t want 
to push through there.” 

“ But it’s here I want to see my friend.” 

“ Does he live in this place ?” 

“ No ; but he is sure to be there — in that house.” 

The lad nodded at a goodly sized mansion about half- 
way down the court ; and even from where they stood 
they could make out that the place was crowded, and 
that something exciting was going on, the crowd in the 
court outside being evidently listeners, trying to catch 
what was said within, the murmurs of which reached 
the two lads’ ears. 

All at once there was a loud outburst of cheering, 
shouting, and clapping of hands, as if at the conclusion 


GETTING INTO HOT WATER. 


29 


of a speech ; and this was responded to by a roar of 
yells, hoots, and derisive cries from the court. 

“ Oh ! too late — too late,” muttered Andrew. “ Si- 
lence, you miserable crew !” 

But where heard his words passed unnoticed, those 
around evidently taking them as being addressed to the 
people in the great tavern. 

“ Let’s getaway — quickly, while we can,” said Frank, 
with his lips close to his companion’s ear ; but the lad 
shook him off angrily, and then uttered a cry of rage, 
for at that moment there was a loud crash and splinter- 
ing of glass, the mob in the court, evidently under the 
direction of the well-dressed men, hurling stones, de- 
cayed vegetables, and rubbish of all kinds in at the win- 
dows of the tavern. 

This was responded to by shouts of defiance and a 
rain of pots, glasses, and pails of water ; and even the 
pails themselves were hurled down upon the heads of 
the people in the court, while a long oaken settle which 
came clattering down fell crosswise, the end coming 
within a few inches of a man’s head. 

“ Oh, do let’s go !” Frank very naturally said, grip- 
ping Andrew’s arm hard. 

But the lad seemed to have suddenly gone crazy with 
excitement, shouting and gesticulating with the rest, 
directing his words, which sounded like menaces, at the 
people crowding at the window of the house. 

At this the mob cheered, and, as if in answer to his 
orders, made a rush for the door, surging in, armed for 
the most part with sticks, and as if to carry the place by 
assault. 

” I can’t go and leave him,” thought Frank ; and 
directly after — as he looked up the court toward the end 
by which they had entered, and down from which they 
had been borne until they were nearly opposite the 
house — “ if I wanted to,” he muttered, as he saw how 
they were wedged in and swayed here and there by the 
crowd. 


30 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


The noise increased, the crowd beginning to cheer 
loudly, as crowds will when excited by the chance to 
commit mischief, and Frank remained ignorant of the 
reasons which impelled them on, as he watched the ex- 
citing scene. The sound of blows, yells of defiance, 
and the angry, increasing roar of those contending 
within the house, set his heart beating wildly. For a 
few minutes, when he found himself shut in by the peo- 
ple around, a feeling of dread came over him, mingled 
with despair at his helplessness, and he would have 
given anything to be able to escape from his position ; 
but as he saw man after man come stumbling out bruised 
and bleeding, and heard the cries of rage uttered by 
those who hemmed him in, the feeling of fear gave place 
to indignation, and this was soon followed by an angry 
desire to help those who, amidst the cheers of their fel- 
lows, pressed forward to take the place of those who 
were beaten back. 

It was at this moment that he saw two well-dressed 
men waving swords above their heads, and, white now 
with rage, Andrew turned to him. 

“ The cowards — the dogs !” he whispered. “ Frank, 
lad, you will be man enough to help ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” panted the boy huskily, with a sensation 
akin to that which he had felt when hurt in his last 
school fight, when, reckless from pain, he had dashed at a 
tyrannical fellow-pupil who was planting blow after 
blow upon him almost as he pleased. 

“ Draw your sword then, and follow me.” 

Frank made a struggle to wrench himself free, but it 
was in vain. 

“ I can’t !” he panted. “ My arms are pinned down 
to my side.” 

“ So are mine,” groaned Andrew. “ I can hardly 
breathe.” 

A furious yell of rage arose from fifty throats, and the 
two lads saw the attacking party come tumbling one 
over the other out of the tavern, driven back by the de 


GETTING INTO HOT WATER. 


3 1 


fenders, who charged bravely out after them, armed 
with stick and sword ; and almost before the two lads 
could realise their position they found themselves being 
carried along in the human stream well out of reach of 
the blows being showered down by the rallying party 
from the house, who literally drove their enemies before 
them, at first step by step striking back in their own de- 
fence, rendered desperate by their position, then giving 
up and seeking refuge in flight, when with a rush their 
companions gave way more and more in front. 

For a few minutes the heat and pressure were suffo- 
cating, and as Frank and his companion were twisted 
round and borne backward, the former felt a peculiar 
sensation of giddy faintness, the walls swam round, the 
shouting sounded distant, and he was only half-con- 
scious when, in company with those around, he was shot 
out of the narrow entrance of the court ; and then the 
terrible pressure ceased. 


CHAPTER IV. 


frank’s eyes begin to open. 


VERYTHING else seemed to the boy to cease at 



P > the same time, till he became conscious of feeling 
cold and wet, and heard a voice speaking : 

“ And him quite a boy too. I wonder what his moth- 
er would say. — Here, drink this, my dear ; and don’t 
you never go amongst the crazy, quarrelsome wretches 
again. I don’t know what we’re coming to with their 
fighting in the streets. It isn’t safe to go out, that it 
isn’t. Drink it all, .my dear ; you’ll feel better then. 
I always feel faint myself if I get in a crowd.** 

Frank had heard every word, with a peculiar dreamy 
feeling that he ought to listen and know who the boy 
was so addressed. Then he became conscious that it 
was he who was drinking from a mug of water held to 
his lips ; and, opening his eyes, he looked up into a 
pleasant, homely face bending over him in an open door- 
way, upon whose step he was sitting, half leaning 
against the door-post, half against the woman who was 
kneeling at his side. 

“ Ah, that’s better,” said the woman. “ Now you 
take my advice ; you go straight home. You’re not a 
man yet, and don’t want to mix yourself up with people 
fighting about who ought to be king. Just as if it mat- 
ters to such as us. As I often tell my husband, he’d a 
deal better attend to getting his living, and not go listen- 
ing to people argifying whether it’s to be the king on 
the other side of the water or on this. I say, give me 
peace and You feel better, don’t you ?” 


FRANK’S EYES BEGIN TO OPEN. 


33 


# “Yes, thank you,” said Frank, making an effort to 
rise ; but the moment he tried the ground seemed to 
heave up beneath him. 

“ You’re not quite right yet, my dear ; sit still a little 
longer. And you too with a sword by your side, just as if 
you wanted to fight. I call it shocking, that I do.” 

But I am much better,” said Frank, ignoring the 
woman’s remarks. “ I can walk now. But did you see 
my friend ?” 

“ Your friend ? Was it one of those rough-looking 
fellows who came running down with you between ’em, 
and half a dozen more hunting them, and they pushed 
you in here and ran on ?” 

“ Oh no. My friend is a Ah ! there he is. Drew ! 

Drew !” 

Looking white and strange, Andrew Forbes was com- 
ing hurriedly down the narrow lane, when he heard his 
name pronounced, and looking round he caught sight 
of his companion, and hurried to his side. 

” Oh, here you are !” he panted. “ I’ve been look- 
ing for you everywhere. I was afraid they had taken 
you to the watch-house. I couldn’t keep by you ; I was 
regularly dragged away.” 

“ Were you hurt ?” cried Frank excitedly. 

“ Felt as if my ribs were all crushed in. But what 
about you ?” 

” I suppose I turned faint,” said Frank. ” I didn’t 
know anything till I found myself here, and this lady 
giving me water.” 

“ Oh, I’m not a lady, my dear,” said the woman, 
smiling, — “only a laundress as does for some of the 
gentlemen in the Temple. There now, you both go 
home ; for I can see that you don’t belong to this part 
of town. I dare say, if the truth was known, he brought 
you here.” 

Frank was silent, but he glanced up at Andrew, who 
was carefully rearranging his dress and brushing his 
cocked hat. 


34 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ I thought as much,” said the woman. “ He’s big- 
ger, and he ought to have known better than to get into 
such a shameful disturbance. — What’s that ? — Lor’ bless 
me, no, my dear ! Why should I take a mark for a mug 
of cold water? Put it in your pocket, my dear ; you’ll 
want it to buy cakes and apples. I don’t want to be 
paid for doing a Christian act.” 

“ Then thank you very much,” said Frank warmly, 
offering his hand. 

“ Oh ! if you will,” said the woman, “ I don’t mind. 
It isn’t the first time I’ve shook hands with a gentle- 
man.” 

The woman turned, smiling with pleasure, as if to re- 
peat the performance with Andrew Forbes ; but as she 
caught sight of his frowning countenance her hand fell 
to her side, and she dropped the youth a formal curtsey. 

“ Thank you for helping my friend,” he said. 

“ You’re quite welkum, young man,” said the woman 
tartly. “ And if you’ll take my advice, you won’t bring 
him into these parts again, where they’re doing nothing 
else but swash-buckling from morning to night. The 
broken heads I’ve seen this year is quite awful, and ” 

Andrew Forbes did not wait to hear the rest, but 
passed his arm through that of Frank, and walked with 
him swiftly down the narrow lane toward the waterside. 

“ You’re not much hurt, are you ?” 

“ Oh no. It was the heat and being squeezed so.” 

“ Don’t say you were frightened, lad !” cried Andrew. 

” I was at first ; but when I saw the people being 
knocked about so, I felt as if I wanted to help.” 

“That’s light. You’ve got the right stuff in you. 
But wasn’t it glorious ?” 

“ Glorious ?” 

“ Yes !” cried Andrew excitedly. “ It was brave and 
gallant to a degree. The cowardly brutes were three 
times as many as the others.” 

“ Oh no ; the other side was the stronger, and they 
ought to have whipped.” 


FRANK’S EYES BEGIN TO OPEN. 


35 


“ Nonsense ! You don’t know what you are talking 
about,” said Andrew warmly. “ The miserable brutes 
were five or six times as strong, and the brave fellows 
drove them like a flock of sheep right out of the court, 
and scattered them in the street like chaff. Oh, it made 
up for everything !’’ 

Frank put his hand to his head. 

“ I don’t quite understand it,” he said. “ My head 
feels swimming and queer yet. I thought the people in 
the house were the weaker — I mean those who dashed 
out shouting, ‘ Down with the Dutchmen !. ’ ” 

“ Of course,” cried Andrew ; “ that’s what I’m say- 
ing. It was very horrible to be situated as we were.” 

“ Yes, horrible,” said Frank quietly. 

“ Not able to so much as draw one’s sword.” 

“Too much squeezed together.” 

“Yes,” said Andrew, with his face flushed warmly. 
“ I did cry out and shout to them to come on ; but one 
was so helpless and mixed-up-like that people could 
hardly tell which side they belonged to.” 

“ No,” said Frank drily ; ‘‘it was hard.” 

He looked meaningly at his companion as he spoke ; 
but Andrew’s eyes were gazing straight before him, and 
he was seeing right into the future. 

“ Did you see your friend you wanted to speak to ?” 
said Frank, as they reached the river-side. 

“ See him ? Yes, fighting like a hero ; but I couldn’t 
get near him. Never mind ; another time will do. I 
little thought I should come to the city to-day to see 
such a victory. It all shows how things are working.” 

“ Going to ride back by boat ?” said Frank, as if to 
change the conversation. 

“ Oh yes ; we can’t go along Fleet Street and the 
Strand. The streets will be full of constables, and sol- 
diers out too I dare say. They’re busy making arrests 
I know ; and if we were to go along there, as likely as 
not there’d be some spy or one of the beaten side ready 
to point us out as having been in it.” 


3 6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


They reached the stairs, took their place in a wherry, 
and as they leaned back and the waterman tugged at his 
oars, against tide now, Frank said thoughtfully : 

“ I say, what would have happened if somebody had 
pointed us out ?” 

“ We should have been locked up of course, and been 
taken before the magistrate to-morrow. Then it would 
all have come out about our being there, and — ha — ha — 
ha ! — the Prince would have had vacancies for two more 
pages. — I shouldn’t have cared.” 

“ I should,” said Frank quickly, as he saw in imagi- 
nation the pained faces of father and mother. 

“ Well, of course, so should I. Don’t take any notice 
of what I said. Besides, we can be so useful as we are.’ * 

“ How ?” said Frank thoughtfully. “ It always seems 
to me that we are but a couple of ornaments, and of no 
use at all.” 

“ Ah ! wait,” said Andrew .quietly. Then, as if feel- 
ing that he had been in his excitement letting his tongue 
run far too fast, he turned to his companion,' and said 
gently : 

‘‘You are the son of a gallant officer and a beautiful 
lady, and I know you would not say a word that would 
injure a friend.” 

‘‘ I hope not,” said Frank, rather huskily. 

“ I’m sure you would not, or I should not have spoken 
out as I have. But don’t take any notice ; you see, a 
man can’t help talking politics at a time like this. Well, 
when will you come to the city again ?” 

“ Never, if I can help it,” said Frank shortly ; and 
that night in bed he lay sleepless for hours, thinking of 
his companion’s words, and grasping pretty clearly that 
King George I. had a personage in his palace who was 
utterly unworthy of trust. 

“ And it’s such a pity,” said the boy, with a sigh. 
‘‘ I like Andrew Forbes, though he is a bit conceited 
and a dandy ; but it seems as if I ought to speak to 
somebody about what I know. My father — my mother ? 


FRANK’S EYES BEGIN TO OPEN. 


37 


There is no one else I should like to trust with such a 
secret. But he has left it to my honour, and I feel 
pulled both ways. What ought I to do ?” 

He fell asleep at last with that question unanswered, 
and when he awoke the next morning the thought re- 
peated itself with stronger force than before, “ Why, he 
must be at heart a traitor to the King !” and once more 
in dire perplexity Frank Gowan asked himself that ques- 
tion, “ What shall I do ?” 


CHAPTER V. 


THE OFFICER OF THE GUARDS. 

I T would not take much guessing to arrive at the 
course taken by Frank Gowan. He cudgelled his 
brains well, being in a kind of mental balance, which 
one day went down in favour of making a clean breast 
of all he knew to his mother ; the next day up went 
that side, for he felt quite indignant with himself. 

Here, he argued, was he, Frank Gowan, freshly ap- 
pointed one of the Prince’s pages, a most honourable 
position for a youth of his years, and with splendid 
prospects before him, cut off from his old school friend- 
ships, and enjoying a new one with a handsome, well- 
born lad, whom, in spite of many little failings at which 
he laughed, he thoroughly admired for his dash, cour- 
age, and knowledge of the world embraced by the court. 
This lad had completely taken him under his wing, 
made him proud by the preference he showed for his 
companionship, and ready to display his warm admira- 
tion for his new friend by making him the confidant of 
his secret desires ; and what was he, the trusted friend, 
about to do ? Play traitor, and betray his confidence. 
But, then, was not Andrew Forbes seeking to play 
traitor to the King ? 

“ That’s only talk and vanity,” said the boy to him- 
self. ” He has done nothing traitorous ; but if I go and 
talk to any one, I shall have done something — something 
cruelly treacherous, which must end in the poor fellow 
being sent away from the court in disgrace, perhaps to 
a severe punishment.” 


THE OFFICER OF THE GUARDS. 39 

He turned cold at the thought. 

“ They hang or behead people for high treason,” he 
thought ; “ and suppose Drew were to be punished like 
that, how should I feel afterward ? I should never for- 
give myself. Besides, how could I go and worry my 
mother about such a business as this ? It is not wom- 
en’s work, and it would only make her unhappy.” 

But he felt that he might go to his father, and confide 
the matter to him, asking him on his honour not to do 
anything likely to injure Drew. 

But he could not go and confide in his father, who 
was generally with his regiment, and they only met on 
rare occasions. By chance he caught sight of him on 
duty at the Palace with the guard, but he could not 
speak to him then. At other times he was at his bar- 
rack quarters, and rarely at his town house across the 
Park in Queen Anne Street. This place was generally 
only occupied by the servants, Lady Gowan having 
apartments in the Palace. 

Hence Frank felt that it would be very difficult to see 
his father and confide in him, and he grew more at ease 
in consequence. It was the way out of a difficulty most 
dear to many of us — to wit, letting things drift to settle 
themselves. 

And so matters went on for some days. Frank had 
been constantly in company with Andrew Forbes, and 
his admiration for the handsome lad grew into a hearty 
friendship, which was as warmly returned. 

“ He can’t help knowing he is good-looking, ” thought 
Frank, “ and that makes him a bit conceited ; but it 
will soon wear off. I shall joke him out of it. And he 
knows so much. He is so manly. He makes me feel 
like an awkward schoolboy beside him.” 

Frank knitted his brow a little over these thoughts, 
but he brightened up with a laugh directly. 

“ I think I could startle him, though,” he said half 
aloud, “ if I had him down at YVykeham.” 

It was one bright morning at the Palace, where he 


40 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


was standing at the anteroom window just after the 
regular morning military display, and he had hardly 
thought this when a couple of hands were passed over 
his eyes, and he was held fast. 

“ I know who it is,” he said, “ though you don’t think 
it. It’s you, Drew.” 

“ How did you know ?” said that individual merrily. 

“ Because you have hands like a girl’s, and no lady 
here would have done it.” 

“ Bah ! hands like a girl’s indeed ! I shall have to 
lick you into a better shape, bear. You grow too inso- 
lent.” 

“ Very welt ; why don’t you begin ?” said Frank mer- 
rily. 

“ Because I don’t choose. Look here, young one ; I 
want you to come out with me for a bit this afternoon.” 

“ No, thank you,” replied the boy, shaking his head. 
“ I don't want to go and see mad politicians quarrel and 
fight in the city, and get nearly squeezed to death.” 

“ Who wants you to ? It’s only to go for a walk.” 

“ That was going for a walk.” 

“ Afraid of getting your long hair taken out of curl ?” 
said Andrew banteringly. 

“ No ; that would curl up again ; but I don’t want to 
have my clothes torn off my back.” 

‘‘You won’t get them torn off this afternoon. I want 
you to come in the Park there, down by the water-side. 
You’ll like that, savage.” 

‘‘ Yes, of course. Can we fish ?” 

“ No, that wouldn’t do ; but I tell you what : you can 
take some bread with you and feed the ducks.” 

“ Take some bread with me and feed the ducks !” 
cried the boy contemptuously. 

‘‘ Well, that’s what I’m going to do. Then you won’t 
come ?” 

‘‘Yes, I will, Drew, if I can get away. Of course I 
will. Oh, mother, you there?” 

Lady Gowan had just entered the room, and came up 


THE OFFICER OF THE GUARDS. 


4i 


toward the window, smiling, and looking proud, happy, 
and almost too young to be the mother of the stout, 
manly-looking boy who hurried to meet her ; and court 
etiquette did not hinder a loving exchange of kisses. 
She shook hands directly after with Andrew Forbes. 

I am afraid that you two find it very dull here some- 
times,” she said. 

“ Well, yes, Lady Gowan,” said the youth, “ I often 
do. I'm not like Frank here, with his friends at court. ” 

” But I have so few opportunities for seeing him, Mr. 
Forbes. After a few weeks, though, I shall be at home 
yonder, and then you must come and spend as much 
time there as you can with Frank.” 

Andrew bowed and smiled, and said something about 
being glad. 

“ Frank dear,” said Lady Gowan, “ I have had a let- 
ter from your father this morning, and I have written 
an answer. He wants to see you for a little while. He 
is at home for a couple of days. You can take the note 
across.” 

“ Yes,” cried Frank, flushing with pleasure ; T>ut the 
next moment he turned to Andrew with an apologetic 
look. 

“ What is the matter ?” said Lady Gowan. “ Am I 
interrupting some plans ?" 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing, Lady Gowan,” said Andrew 
warmly. 

“ I was going out with Drew, mother ; but we can go 
another time. He will not mind.” 

“ But it was only this afternoon.” 

“ Oh !” cried Lady Gowan, “ he will be back in an 
hour or so. I am glad that you were going out, my 
boy ; it will make a little change for you. And I am 
very glad, Mr. Forbes, that he has found so kind a com- 
panion. ” 

Andrew played the courtier to such perfection, that as 
soon as she had passed out of the room with her son 
Lady Gowan laughed merrily. 


42 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ In confidence, Frank,” she said, “ and not to hurt 
Mr. Forbes’s feelings, do not imitate his little bits of 
courtly etiquette. They partake too much of the danc- 
ing-master. 1 like to see my boy natural and manly. 
There, quick to your father, with my dear love, and tell 
him I am longing for his leave, when we can have, I 
hope, a couple of months in Hampshire.” 

“ Hah !” ejaculated Frank, as he hurried across the 
Park ; “a couple of months in Hampshire. I wonder 
how long it will be ?” 

Ten minutes later he was going up two steps at a time 
to the room affected by his father in the spacious house 
in Queen Anne Street, where, as soon as he threw open 
the door, he caught sight of the lightly built but vigor- 
ous and active-looking officer in scarlet, seated at the 
window overlooking the Park, deep in a formidable- 
looking letter. 

“ Ah, Frank, my dear boy,” he cried, hurriedly thrust- 
ing the letter into his breast, “ this is good. What, an 
answer already ? You lucky young dog, to have the 
best woman in the world for a mother. Bless her !” he 
cried, kissing the letter and placing it with the other ; 
“ I’ll read that when you are gone. Not come to stay, 
I suppose ?” 

“ No, father,” cried the boy, whose eyes flashed with 
excitement as they took in every portion of the officer 
in turn. “ I’ve only come to bring the note ; mother 
said you wished to see me.” 

“ Of course, my boy, so as to have a few words. I just 
catch a glimpse of you now and then, but it’s only a nod. ’ ' 

“ And I do often long so to come to you,” cried 
Frank, with his arm upon his father’s shoulder. 

“ That’s right, boy,” said Sir Robert, smiling and 
taking his hands ; “ but it wouldn’t do for the captain 
of the guard to be hugging his boy before everybody, 
eh ? We men must be men, and do all that sort of 
thing with a nod or a look. As long as we understand 
each other, my boy, that’s enough, eh ?” 


THE OFFICER OF THE GUARDS. 


43 


“ Yes, father, of course/’ 

“ But bravo, Frank ; you’re growing and putting on 
muscle. By George, yes ! Arms are getting hard, 

and good fine depth of chest for your age. Don’t, 

because you are the Prince’s page, grow into a dandy 
macaroni milk-sop, all scent, silk, long curls, and poma- 
tum. I want you to grow into a man, fit for a soldier 
to fight for his king.” 

“ And that’s what I want to do, father,” said the lad 
proudly. 

“ Of course you do ; and so you will. You are alter- 
ing wonderfully, boy. Why, hallo ! I say,” cried the 
captain, with mock seriousness, as he held his son side- 
wise and gazed at his profile against the light. 

“ What’s the matter, father ?” cried Frank, startled. 

“ Keep your head still, sir ; I want to look. Yes, it’s 
a fact — very young and tender, but there it is ; it’s com- 
ing up fast. Why, Frank boy, you’ll soon have to 
shave.” 

“ What nonsense !” cried the boy, reddening partly 
at being laughed at, but quite as much with satisfaction. 

“ It’s no nonsense, you young dog. There’s your 
moustache coming, and no mistake. Why, if I had a 
magnifying-glass, I could see it quite plainly.” 

“ I say, father, don’t ; I can’t stop long, and — and — 
that teases one.” 

“ Then I won’t banter you, boy,” cried Sir Robert, 
clapping him heartily on the shoulder ; “ but, I say, 
you know : it’s too bad of you, sir. I don’t like it.” 

“ What is, father ? What have I done ?” 

“ Oh, I suppose you can’t help it ; but it’s too bad of 
you to grow so fast, and make your mother look an old 
woman.” 

“That she doesn’t, father,” cried the boy. “Why, 
she’s the youngest-looking and most beautiful lady at 
court. ” 

“ So she is, my boy — so she is. Heaven bless her !” 

“ And as for you, father, you talk about looking old, 


44 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE 


and about me growing big and manly ; I shall never 
grow into such a fine, handsome officer as you.” 

“ Why, you wicked, parasitical, young court flat- 
terer !” cried Sir Robert ; “ you’re getting spoiled and 
sycophantish already.” 

“ I’m not, father !” cried the boy, flushing ; “ it’s 
quite true, every word of it. Everybody says what a 
noble-looking couple you are.” 

“ Do they, my boy ?” said the father more gently, 
and there was a trace of emotion in his tone. “ But 
there’s not much couple in it, living apart like this. 
Ah, well, we have our duty to do, and mine is cut out 
for me. But never mind the looks, Frank, my boy, and 
the gay uniform ; it’s the man I want you to grow into. 
But all the same, sir, nature is nature. Look there.” 

“ What, at grandfather’s portrait ?” 

“ Yes, boy. You will not need to have yours painted, 
and I have not had mine taken for the same reason. Is 
it like me ?” 

“ Yes, father. If you were dressed the same, it would 
be exactly like you.” 

“ In twenty years’ time it will do for you.” 

Frank laughed. 

“ But I say yes, sir,” cried Sir Robert. “ Why in 
sixteen years’ time, if I could have stood still, we two 
would be as much alike as a couple of peas. But in six- 
teen years perhaps I shall be in my grave.” 

“ Father !” 

“ Well, I’m a soldier, my boy ; and soldiers have to 
run risks more than other men.” 

“ Oh, but you won’t ; you’re too big and brave.” 

“ Ha — ha — ha ! Flattering again. Why, Frank, I 
sometimes think I’m a coward.” 

” You ! A coward ! I should like to hear any one 
say so.” 

“ A good many will perhaps, boy. But there, never 
mind that ; and perhaps after all you had better not fol- 
low my profession.” 


THE OFFICER OF THE GUARDS. 


45 


“ What ! not be a soldier !” 

“ Yes. Do you really wish to be ?” 

“ Why of course, father ; I don’t want to be a palace 
lapdog all my life.” 

“ Bravo, Frank ! well said !” cried the father heart- 
ily. “ Well, you come of a military family, and I dare 
say I can get you a commission when the beard really 
does grow so that it can be seen without an optic glass.” 

” Oh, I say, father, you’re beginning to tease again. 
I say, do get up and walk across the room.” 

“ Eh ? What for ?” 

“ I want to look at you.” 

Sir Robert smiled and shook his head. Then, slowly 
rising, he drew himself up in military fashion, and 
marched slowly across the room and back, with his 
broad-skirted scarlet and gold uniform coat, white 
breeches, and high boots, and hand resting upon his 
sword-hilt, and looking the beau ideal of an officer of 
the King’s Guards. 

“ There, have I been weak enough, Frank ?” he said, 
stopping in front of his son, and laying his hands affec- 
tionately upon his shoulders. “ All show, my boy. 
When you’ve worn it as long as I have, you will think 
as little of it ; but it is quite natural for it to attract a 
boy like you. But now sit down and tell me a little 
about how you spend your time. I find that you have 
quite taken up with Andrew Forbes. His father prom- 
ised me that the lad should try and be companionable 
to you. Forbes is an old friend of mine still, though he 
is in disgrace at court. How do you get on with An- 
drew ? Like him ?” 

“ Oh, very much, father.” 

“ Well, don’t like him too much, my boy. Lads of 
your age are rather too ready to make idols of showy 
fellows a year or two older, and look up to them and 
imitate them, when too often the idol is not of such 
good stuff as the worshipper. So you like him ?” 

“Yes, father.” 


4 6 


IN HONOUR’S. CAUSE. 


“ Kind and helpful to you ?” 

“ Oh, very.” 

“ Well, what is it ?” 

“ What is what, father ?” 

“ That cloudy look on your face. Why, Frank, I’ve 
looked at you so often that I can read it quite plainly. 
Why, you’ve been quarrelling with Andrew Forbes !” 

“ Oh no, father ; we’re the best of friends.” 

“ Then what is it, Frank ? You are keeping some- 
thing back.” 

Sir Robert spoke almost sternly, and the son shrank 
from gazing in the fine, bold, questioning eyes. 

“I knew it,” said Sir Robert. “What is it, boy ? 
Speak out.” 

It was the firm officer talking now, and Frank felt his 
breath come shorter as his heart increased the speed of 
its pulsations. 

“ Well, sir, I am waiting. Why don’t you answer ?” 

“ I can’t, father.” 

“ Can’t ? 1 thought my boy always trusted his father, 
as he trusts his son. There, out with it, Frank. The 
old saying, my lad, The truth may be blamed, but can 
never be shamed. What is it — some scrape ? There, 
let’s have it, and get it over. Always come to me, my 
boy. We are none of us perfect, so let there be no 
false shame. If you have done wrong, come to me and 
tell me like a man. If it means punishment, that will 
not be one hundredth part as painful to you as keeping 
it back and forfeiting my confidence in my dear wife’s 
boy.” 

“ Oh, I would come. I have wanted to come to you 
about this, but I felt that I could not.” 

“Why ?” 

“ Because it would be dishonourable.” 

“ Perhaps that is only your opinion, Frank. Would 
it not be better for me to give you my opinion ?” 

The boy hesitated for a moment. Then quickly : 

“ I gave my word, father.” 


THE OFFICER OF THE GUARDS. 


47 


" To whom ?” 

“ Andrew Forbes.” 

” Not to speak of whatever it is ?” 

“ Yes, father.” 

Sir Robert Gowan sat looking stern and silent for a 
few moments as if thinking deeply. 

“ Frank boy,” he said at last, “ I am a man of some 
experience ; you are a mere boy fresh from a country 
school, and now holding a post which may expose you 
to many temptations. I, then, as your father, whose 
desire is to watch over you and help you to grow into a 
brave and good man, hold that it would not be dishonour- 
able for you to confide in me in every way. It can be 
no dishonour for you to trust me.” 

“ Then I will tell you, father ;” and the boy hastily 
laid bare his breast, telling of his adventures with An- 
drew Forbes, and how great a source of anxiety they 
had proved to be. 

“ Hah !” said Sir Robert, after sitting with knitted 
brows looking curiously at his son and hearing him to 
the end. “ Well, I am very glad that you have spoken, 
my boy, and I think it will be right for you to stand 
your ground, and be ready to laugh at Master Andrew 
and his political associations. It is what people call dis- 
loyal and treasonable on one side ; on the other, it is 
considered noble and right. But you need not trouble 
your head about that. Andrew Forbes is after all a 
mere boy, very enthusiastic, and led away perhaps by 
thoughts of the Prince living in exile instead of sitting 
on the throne of England. But you don’t want to touch 
politics for the next ten years. It would be better for 
many if they never touched them at all. There, I am 
glad you have told me.” 

“ So am I now, father. But you will not speak about 
it at all, so as to get Drew in disgrace ?” 

“ I give you my word I will not, Frank. Oh, non- 
sense ! It is froth— fluff ; a chivalrous boy’s fancy and 
sympathy for one he thinks is oppressed. No, Frank, no 


4 8 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


words of mine will do Drew Forbes any harm ; but as 
for you ” 

“Yes, father.” 

“ Do all you can to help him and hold him back. It 
would be a pity for him to suffer through being rash. 

They might treat it all as a boy’s nonsense no, it 

would mean disgrace. Keep him from it if you can.” 

“ I, father ! He is so much older than I am, and I 
looked up to him.” 

“Proof of what I said, Frank,” cried Sir Robert, 
clapping his son upon the shoulder. “ He is a bright, 
showy lad ; but you carry more ballast than he. Brag’s 
a good dog, you know, but Holdfast’s a better. Now, 
then, I think you ought to be going back. Good-bye, 
my boy. I look to you to be your mother’s protector 
more and more. Perhaps in the future I may be absent. 
But you must go now, for I have an important letter to 
write. My dear love to your mother, and come to me 
again whenever you have a chance.” 

Sir Robert went down to the garden door with his 
son, and let him out that way into the Park. 

“ Mind,” he said at parting. “ Keep away from po- 
litical mobs.” 

“ I will,” said Frank to himself, as he turned back. 
“ Well, it will be all right going with Drew this after- 
noon, as it is only to feed the ducks.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


FRANK FEEDS THE DUCKS. 



OMETHING very nearly akin to a guilty feeling 


troubled Frank upon meeting his fellow-page that 
afternoon ; but his father’s promise, in conjunction with 
his words respecting Andrew’s actions being merely 
those of an enthusiastic boy, helped to modify the 
trouble he felt, and in a few minutes it passed off. For 
Andrew began by asking how his friend’s father was, 
and praising him. 

“ I always liked your father, Frank,” he said ; “ but 
he’s far too good for where he is. Well, we’re off duty 
till the evening. Ready for our run ?” 

“ Oh yes, I’m ready,” said Frank, laughing ; “ but 
you won’t run unless somebody’s carriage is being 
mobbed. You could go fast enough then.” 

“ Well, of course I can run if I like. Come along.” 

“ Where’s the bread ?” asked Frank. 

“ Bread ? What bread ? Are you hungry already ?” 

“ No, no ; the bread you talked about.” 

‘‘The bread I talked about? What nonsense! I 
never said anything about bread that I can remember.” 

“ Well, you said you were going to feed the ducks.” 

“ Oh — h — h !” ejaculated Andrew ; and he then burst 
into a hearty fit of laughter. “ Of course : so I did. I 
didn’t think of it. Well, perhaps we had better take 
some. Ring the bell, and ask one of the footmen to 
bring you some.” 

Frank thought it strange that his companion, after 
proposing that they should go and feed the ducks, had 


5o 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


forgotten all about the bread. However, he said no 
more, but rang, and asked the servant to get him a 
couple of slices. 

The man stared, but withdrew, and came back 
directly. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” he said ; “ but did you 
wish me to bring the bread here ?” 

“ Certainly. Be quick, please. We are waiting to go 
out.” 

The man withdrew for the second time, and the lads 
waited, chatting together till Andrew grew impatient. 

“ Ring again,” he cried. “ Have they sent to have a 
loaf baked ? It’s getting late. Let’s start. Nevermind 
the bread.” 

“ Oh, let’s have it now it’s ordered. How are we to 
feed the ducks without ?” 

“ Throw them some stones,” said Andrew mockingly. 
“ Come along. We’ll look at other people feeding them 
— if there are any. Look here ; it’s twenty minutes by 
that clock since you gave the order.” 

At that moment another footman opened the door, 
and held it back for one of his fellows to enter bearing 
a tray covered with a cloth, on which were a loaf, a but- 
ter-dish, knives, plates, glasses, and a decanter of water. 

“ Oh, what nonsense !” cried Andrew impatiently. 
“ There, cut a slice, Frank, put it in your pocket, and 
come along, or we shall be late.” 

“ I did not know that ducks had particular hours for 
being fed,” thought the boy, as he cut into the loaf, and 
then hacked off two slices instead of one, the two men- 
servants standing respectfully back and looking on, 
both being too well trained to smile, as Frank thrust 
one slice into his pocket and offered the other to An- 
drew. 

“ Oh, I don’t want it,” he said impatiently. 

“ Better take it,” cried Frank. “ I shan’t give you 
any of mine.” 

Andrew hesitated for a moment, and then snatched a 


FRANK FEEDS THE DUCKS. 


5i 


handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the slice in it, 
and thrust the handkerchief back. 

“ Perhaps I had better take one too,” he said aloud ; 
and then to his companion as they went out : “ Makes 
one look so ridiculous and childish before the servants. 
They’ll go chattering about it all over the place.” 

“ Let them,” said Frank coolly. “ I don’t see any- 
thing to be ashamed of.” 

“ No,” said Andrew, with something like a sneer, 
“ you don’t ; but you will some day. There, let’s make 
haste.” 

It did not strike the lad that his companion’s manner 
was peculiar, only that he felt it to be rather an undig- 
nified proceeding ; but he said nothing, and accommo- 
dating his stride to Andrew’s long one, they crossed the 
courtyard, went out into the Park, and came in sight of 
the water glittering in the sun. 

“There’s a good place,” said Frank. “Plenty of 
ducks close in.” 

“ Oh, there’s a better place round on the other side,” 
said Andrew hastily. “ Let’s go there.” 

“ Anywhere you like,” said Frank, “ so long as we’re 
out here on the fresh grass again. What a treat it is to 
be among the green trees !” 

“ Much better than the country, eh ?” 

“ Oh no ; but it does very well. I say, I wish we 
might fish.” 

“ Oh, we’ll go fishing some day. Walk faster ; we’re 
late.” 

“ Fast as you like. What do you say to a run ? You 
can run, you say, when you like.” 

“ Oh no, we needn’t run ; only walk fast.” 

“ Or the ducks will be impatient,’.’ said Frank, laugh - 
ing. 

“ Yes, or the ducks may be impatient,” said Andrew 
to himself, as he led on toward the end of the orna- 
mental water nearest to where Buckingham Palace now 
stands, and bore off to the left ; and when some dis- 


5 2 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


tance back along the farther shore of the lake and nearly 
opposite to St. James’s Palace, he said suddenly : 

“ Look, Frank, there is some one beforehand and 
he pointed to where a gentleman stood by the edge of 
the water shooting bits of biscuit with his thumb and 
finger some distance out, apparently for the sake of see- 
ing the ducks race after them, some aiding themselves 
with their wings, and then paddling back for more. 

The two lads walked up to where the gentleman was 
standing, and as he heard them approach he turned 
quickly, and Frank saw that he was a pale, slight, thin- 
faced, youngish-looking man who might be forty. 

“ Ah, Andrew,” he said, “ you here ; how are you ? 
You have not come to feed the ducks ?” 

“ Oh yes, I have,” said Andrew, giving the stranger 
a peculiar look ; “ and I’ve brought a friend with me. 
Let me introduce him. Mr. Fiank Gowan, Captain Sir 
Robert Gowan’s son, and my fellow-servant with his 
Royal Highness. Frank, this happens to be a friend of 
mine — Mr. George Selby.” 

“ I am very glad to meet any friend of Andrew 
Forbes,” said the stranger, raising his hat with a most 
formal bow. “ I know Sir Robert slightly.” 

As he replaced his hat and smiled pleasantly to the 
salute Frank gave in return, he took a biscuit from his 
pocket, and began to break it in very small pieces, 
when, apparently without any idea of its looking child- 
ish, Andrew took out his piece of bread, and after a mo- 
ment’s hesitation Frank did the same, the ducks in his 
Majesty’s “canal,” as he termed it, benefiting largely 
by the result. 

“ Any news ?” said Andrew, after this had been going 
on for some minutes, and as he spoke he turned his head 
and looked fixedly at Mr. Selby. 

“ No, nothing whatever ; everything is as dull as can 
be,” was the reply, and the fixed look was returned. 

There seemed to be nothing in these words of an ex- 
citing nature, and Frank was intent upon a race between 


FRANK FEEDS THE DUCKS. 


53 


two green-headed drakes for a piece of crust which he 
had jerked out to a considerable distance ; but all the 
same Andrew Forbes drew a deep breath, and his face 
flushed up. Then he glanced sharply at Frank, and 
looked relieved to find how his attention was diverted. 

“ Er — er — it is strange what a little news there is stir- 
ring nowadays,” he said, huskily. 

“ Yes, very, is it not ?” replied their new companion ; 
“ but I should have thought that you gentlemen, living 
as you do in the very centre of London life, would have 
had plenty to amuse you.” 

“ Oh no,” said Andrew, with a forced laugh. “ Ours 
is a terrible humdrum life at the Palace, so bad that 
Gowan there is always wanting to go out into the coun- 
try to find sport, and as he cannot and I cannot, we are 
glad to come out here and feed the ducks.” 

“ Well,” said the stranger gravely, jerking out a fresh 
piece of biscuit, ‘‘ it is a nice, calm, and agreeable diver- 
sion. I like to come here for the purpose on Wednes- 
day and Friday afternoons about this time. It is harm- 
less, Forbes.” 

“ Very,” said the youth, with another glance at 
Frank ; but he was breaking a piece of crust for another 
throw, and another meaning look passed between the 
two, Forbes seeming to question the stranger with his 
eyes, and to receive for answer an almost imperceptible 
nod. 

“ Yes, I like feeding the ducks,” said Selby. “ One 
acquires a good deal of natural history knowledge there- 
by, and also enjoys the pleasure of making new and 
pleasant friends.” 

This was directed at Frank, who felt uncomfortable, 
and made another bow, it being the proper thing to do, 
as his new acquaintance — he did not mentally call him 
friend — dropped a piece of biscuit, to be seized by a 
very fat duck, which had found racing a failure, and 
succeeded best by coming out of the water, to snap up 
the fragments which dropped at the distributors’ feet. 


54 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


As the piece of biscuit fell, the stranger formally and 
in a very French fashion raised his cocked hat again. 

“ And so you find the court life dull, Mr. Go wan ?” 
he said. 

“Yes,” said the boy, colouring. “You see, I have 
not long left Winchester and my school friends. Miss 

the ga sports ; but Andrew Forbes has been very 

friendly to me,” he added heartily. 

“ Of course you feel dull coming among strangers ; 
but never fear, Mr. Gowan, you will have many and 
valuable friends I hope, your humble servant among the 
number. It must be dull, though, at this court. Now 
at Saint ” 

“ That’s my last piece of bread, Selby,” said Andrew 
hastily. “ Give me a bit of biscuit.” 

“ Certainly, if I have one left,” was the smiling reply, 
with another almost imperceptible nod. “ Yes, here is 
the last. Of course you must find it dull, and we have 
not seen you lately at the club, my dear fellow. By the 
way, why not bring Mr. Gowan with you next time ?” 

“ Oh, he would hardly care to come. He does not 
care for politics, eh, Frank ?” 

“ I don’t understand them,” said the boy quietly. 

“ You soon will now you are resident in town, Mr. 
Gowan ; and I hope you will favour us by accompany- 
ing your friend Forbes. Only a little gathering of gen- 
tlemen, young, clever, and I hope enthusiastic. You 
will come ?’ ’ 

“ I— that is ” 

“ Say yes, Frank, and don’t be so precious modest. 
He will bring up a bit of country now and then. But 
he is fast growing into a man of town.” 

“ What nonsense, Drew !” cried the boy quickly. 

“ Yes, what nonsense !” said the new acquaintance, 
smiling. “ Believe me, Mr. Gowan, we do not talk of 
town at our little social club. I shall look forward to 
seeing you there as my guest. What do you say to 
Monday ?” 


FRANK FEEDS THE DUCKS. 


55 


“ I say yes for both of us,” said Andrew quickly. 

I am very glad. There, my last biscuit has gone, so 
till Monday evening I will say good-bye — au revoir." 

“ Stick to the English, Selby,” said Andrew sharply. 
“ French is not fashionable at St. James’s.” 

“ You are quite right, my dear Forbes. Good-bye, 
Mr. Gowan. It is a pleasure to shake your father’s son 
by the hand. Till Monday then, my dear Forbes 
and with a more courtly bow than ever, the gentleman 
stalked slowly away, with one hand raising a laced hand- 
kerchief to his face, the other resting upon his sword- 
hilt. 

“ Glad we met him,” said Andrew quickly, and he 
looked unusually excited. “ One of the best of men. 
You will like him, Frank.” 

“ But you should not have been so ready to accept a 
stranger’s invitation for me.” 

“ Pooh ! he isn’t a stranger. He’ll be grateful to you 
for going. Big family the Selbys, and he’ll be very rich 
some day. Wonderful how fond he is, though, of feed- 
ing the ducks.” 

” Yes, he seems to be,” said Frank ; and he accom- 
panied his Companion as the latter strolled on now along 
the bank after finishing the distribution of bread to the 
feathered fowl by sending nearly a whole biscuit skim- 
ming and making ducks and drakes on the surface of 
the water ; but the living ducks and drakes soon ended 
that performance and followed the pair in vain. For 
Andrew Forbes had suddenly become very thoughtful ; 
while his companion also had his fit of musing, which 
ended in his saying to himself : 

“ I wish I was as clever as they are. It almost seemed 
as if they meant something more than they said. It 
comes from living in London I suppose, and perhaps 
some day I shall get to be as sharp and quick as they 
are. Perhaps, though, it is all nonsense, and they 
meant nothing. But I wish Drew had not said we’d go. 
I’m not a man, and what do I want at a club ? I don’t 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


56 

know anything that they’d want to know, living as I do 
shut up in the Palace.” 

But there Frank Gowan was wrong, for what went on 
at St. James’s Palace in the early days of the eighteenth 
century was of a great deal of interest to some people 
outside, and he never forgot the feeding of the ducks. 


CHAPTER VII. 


HOW FRANK GOWAN GREW ONE YEAR OLDER IN ONE DAY. 

I SEEM to have so many things to worry me,” 
thought Frank. “ Any one would think that in 
a place like this without lessons or studies there would 
be no unpleasantries ; but as soon as I’ve got the better 
of one, another comes to worry me.” 

This was in consequence of the invitation for the fol- 
lowing Monday. His mind was pretty well at ease 
about his confidential talk with his father ; but he was 
nervous and uncomfortable about the visit to the club, 
and several times over he was on the point of getting 
leave to go across to Sir Robert to ask his opinion as to 
whether he ought to go. 

“ I can’t go and bother my mother about such a thing 
as that,” he mused. ” I ought to be old enough now 
to be able to decide which is right and which is wrong. 
Drew thinks and talks like a man, while it seems to me 
that I’m almost a child compared to him. 

“ Well, let’s try. Ought I to go, or ought I not? 
There can’t be any harm to me in going. There may 
be some friends of Drew’s whom I shan’t like ; but if 
there are I needn’t go again. It’s childish, when I want 
to become more manly, to shrink from going into so- 
ciety, like a great girl. — I’ll go. If there’s any harm in 
it, the harm is likely to be to Drew, and — yes, of course ; 
I could save him from getting into trouble. 

“ Then I ought to go,” he said to himself decisively, 
and he felt at ease, troubling himself little more about 
the matter, but going through his extremely easy duties 


5 » 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


of waiting in the anteroom, bearing letters and messages 
fiom one part of the Palace to the other, and generally 
looking courtly as a royal page. 

Then the Monday came, with Andrew Forbes in the 
highest of spirits, and ready to chat about the country, 
his friend’s life at Winchester, and to make plans for 
running down to see them when his father and mother 
went out of town. 

“ I don’t believe you’d like it if you did come,” said 
Frank. 

“ Oh yes, I should. Why not ?” 

“ Because you’d find some of the lanes muddy, 
and the edges of the roads full of brambles. You 
wouldn’t care to see the birds and squirrels and hedge- 
hogs, nor the fish in the river, nor the rabbits and 
hares.” 

“ Why, those are all things that I am dying to see in 
their natural places. I wish you would not think I am 
such a macaroni. Why, after the way in which you 
have gone on about the country, isn’t it natural that I 
should want to see more of it ?” 

He kept on in this strain to such an extent that, in- 
stead of convincing his companion, he overdid it, and 
set him wondering. 

“ I don’t understand him a bit,” he said to himself ; 
“ and I wish he wouldn’t keep on calling me my dear 
fellow and slapping me on the back. I never saw him 
so wild and excitable before.” 

The lad’s musings were interrupted to his great dis- 
gust by Andrew coming behind him in the very act and 
words which had annoyed him. For he started and 
turned angrily upon receiving a sounding slap between 
the shoulders. 

“ Why, Frank, my dear fellow,’ ’ cried Andrew, “ what 
ails you? Hallo! eyes flashing lightning and brow heavy 
with thunder. Has the gentle, shepherd-like swain 
from the country got a temper of his own ?” 

“ Of course I have,” cried the boy angrily. “ Why 


ONE YEAR OLDER IN ONE DAY, 


59 


don’t you let it lie quiet, and not wake it up by doing 
that !” 

“ Is the temper like a surly dog, then?” cried An- 
drew, laughing mockingly, “ Will it bite ?” 

“ Yes, if you tease it too much,” snapped out Frank. 

“ Oh, horrible ! You alarm me !” cried Andrew, 
bounding away in mock dread, 

“ Don’t be a fool !” cried Frank angrily ; and the 
tone and gesture which accompanied the request sobered 
Andrew in a moment, though his eyes looked his sur- 
prise that the boy whom he patronised with something 
very much like contempt could be roused up into show- 
ing so much strength of mind. 

“What’s the matter, Frank boy?” he said quietly; 
“ eaten something that hasn’t agreed with you ?” 

“ No,” said the boy sharply. “ I haven’t eaten it — I 
can’t swallow it.” 

“ Eh ? What do you mean ? What is it ?” 

“ You,” said Frank shortly. 

“ Oh !” said Andrew, raising his eyebrows a little 
and staring at him hard ; “ and pray how is it you can’t 
swallow me ?’ ’ 

“ Because you will keep going on in this wild, stupid 
way, and treating me as if I were some stupid boy whom 
you meant to make your butt.” 

“ What, to-day ?’ ’ 

“ Yes, and yesterday, and the day before that, and 
last week, and — and ever since I’ve been heie.” 

“ Then why didn’t you tell me of it if I did, like a 
gentleman should, and not call me a fool ?” 

“ I didn’t ; I said don’t be a fool.” 

“ Same thing. You insulted me.” 

“ Well, you’ve insulted me dozens of times.” 

“ And amongst gentlemen, sir,” continued Andrew 
haughtily, and ignoring the other’s words, “ these things 
mean a meeting. Gentlemen don’t wear swords for 
nothing. They have their honour to defend. Do you 
understand ?” 


6o 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Oh yes, I understand,” said Frank warmly. “ I 
haven’t been behind the trees in the big field at Win- 
chester a dozen times perhaps without knowing what 
that means.” 

“Pish!” said Andrew contemptuously ; “schoolboys’ 
squabbles settled with fists. Black eyes, bruised 
knuckles, and cut lips.” 

“ Well, schoolboys don’t wear swords,” cried Frank, 
who was by no means quelled. “ I learned fencing, and 
I dare say I could use mine properly. I’ve fenced with 
my father in the holidays many a time.” 

“ Then I shall send a friend to you, sir,” said Andrew 
fiercely. 

“ You mean an enemy,” said Frank grimly. 

“A friend, sir — a friend,” said Andrew haughtily; 
“ and you can name your own.” 

“ No, I can’t, and I shouldn’t make such a fool of 
myself,” cried Frank defiantly. 

“ You are very free, sir, with your fools,” cried An- 
drew. “ Such language as this is not fitted for the 
anteroom in the Palace.” 

“ I suppose I may call myself a fool if I like.” 

“ When you are alone, sir, if you think proper, but 
not in my presence. Perhaps you will have the good- 
ness to name your friend now ; it will save time and 
trouble.” 

Frank looked at his companion sharply. 

“ Then you mean to fight ?” 

“ Yes, sir, I mean to chastise this insolence.” 

“ They wouldn’t let us cross swords within the Palace 
grounds.” 

“ Pooh ! No paltry excuses and evasions, sir,” cried 
Andrew, in whose thin cheeks a couple of red spots ap- 
peared. “ Of course we could not hold a meeting here. 
But there is the Park. I see, though. Big words, and 
now the dog that was going to bite is putting his tail 
between his legs, and is ready to run away.” 

“Is he?” said Frank sharply, and a curiously stub- 


ONE YEAR OLDER IN ONE DAY. 


61 

born look came into his face. “ Don’t you be too sure 
of that. But, anyhow, I’m not going to cross swords 
with you in real earnest.” 

“ I thought so. You are afraid that I should pink 
you.” 

” Who’s afraid ?” 

“Bah!” cried Andrew contemptuously. “Youare.” 

“ Oh, am I ?” growled Frank. “ Look here ; I’m 
sure my father wouldn’t like me to fight you with swords, 
whether you pinked me as you call it, or I wounded 
you.” 

“ Pish ! Frank Go wan, you are a poltroon.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but look here, Andrew Forbes, you’ve 
often made me want to hit you when you’ve been so 
bounceable and patronising. Now, we were going to 
see your friend to-night ” 

“We are going to see my friend to-night, sir. Even 
if gentlemen have an affair, they keep their words.” 

“ If they can, and are fit to show themselves. I’m 
not going to that place with you this evening, though I 
had got leave to go out. You can go afterwards if you 
like ; but if you’ll come anywhere you like, where we 
shan’t be stopped, I’ll try and show you, big as you are, 
that I’m not a coward.” 

” Very well. I dare say we can find a place. But 
your sword is shorter than mine. You must wear my 
other one.” 

“ Rubbish ! I’m not going to fight with swords !” 
cried Frank. 

“ What ! you mean pistols ?” 

“ I mean fists.” 

“ Pah ! like schoolboys or people in the mob.” 

“ I shan’t fight with anything else,” said Frank stub- 
bornly. 

“ You shall, sir. Now, then, name your friend.” 

“ Can’t ; he wouldn’t go. He’s such a hot, peppery 
fellow too.” 

** Then he is as big a coward as you are.” 


62 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Look here,” said Frank, almost in a whisper. “ I 
don’t know so much as you do about what we ought to 
do here, but I suppose it means a lot of trouble ; and if 



it does I can’t help it, but if you call me a coward again 
I’ll hit you straight in the face.” 

” Coward then !” cried Andrew, in a sharp whisper. 
‘‘ Now hit me, if you dare.” 

As he spoke he drew himself up to his full height, 
threw out his chest, and folded his arms behind him. 


ONE YEAR OLDER IN ONE DAY. 63 


Quick as thought Frank doubled his fist, and as he 
drew back his arm raised his firm white knuckles to a 
level with his shoulder, and then reason checked him, 
and he stood looking darkly into his fellow-page’s eyes. 

“ I knew it,” cried the latter — “ a coward ; and your 
friend is worse than you, or you wouldn’t have chosen 
him ?” 

“ Oh ! don’t you abuse him,” said. Frank, with his face 
brightening ; and his -eyes shone with the mirth which 
had suddenly taken the place of his anger. 

“ What ! do you dare to mock me ?” cried Andrew. 

“ No ; only it seemed so comic. You know, I’ve only 
had one friend since I’ve been here. How could I ask 
you ?” 

For a few moments Andrew stood gazing at him, as 
if hardly knowing how to parry this verbal thrust, and 
then the look which had accompanied it did its work. 

“ I say,” he said, in an altered tone, “ this is very ab- 
surd.’ ’ 

“ Yes, isn’t it?” said Frank. “I never thought we 
two were going to have such a row.” 

“ But you called me a fool.” 

” Didn’t ! But you did call me a coward. Ha — ha ! 
and yourself too. But, I say, Drew, you don’t think 
I’m a coward, do you ?” 

Andrew made no reply. 

“ Because I don’t think I am,” continued Frank. 
“ I always hated to have to fight down yonder. And as 
soon as we began I always felt afraid of hurting the boy 
I fought with ; but directly he hit out and hurt me I 
forgot everything, and I used to go on hammering away 
till I dropped, and had to give in because he was too 
much for me, and I hadn’t strength to go on hammer- 
ing any more. But somehow,” he added thoughtfully, 
and with simple sincerity in his tones, “ I never even 
then felt as if I was beaten, though of course I was.” 

“But you used to beat sometimes?” said Andrew 
quietly. 


6 4 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Oh yes, often ; I generally used to win. I’ve got 
such a hard head and such bony knuckles. But, I say, 
you don’t think I should be afraid to fight, do you ?” 

“ I’m sure you wouldn’t be,” cried Andrew, with ani- 
mation, “ and — and, there I beg your pardon for treat- 
ing you as I have and for calling you a coward. It was 
a lie, Frank, and — will you shake hands ?” 

There was a rapid movement, and this time the boy’s 
fist flew out, but opened as it went and grasped the thin 
white hand extended toward him. 

“ I say, don’t please ; you hurt,” said Andrew, screw- 
ing up his face. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” cried the boy. “ I didn’t 
mean to grip so hard. I say, though, is it as the officers 
say to the soldiers ?” 

“ What do you mean ?” said Andrew wonderingly. 

“ As you were ?” 

“ Of course. I’m sure our fathers never quarrelled 
and fought, and I swear we never will.” 

“ That’s right,” cried Frank. 

” And I never felt as if I liked you half so much as I 
do now. Why, Frank, old fellow, you seem as if you 
had suddenly grown a year older since we began to 
quarrel. ” 

” Do I ?” said the boy, laughing. ” I am glad. No, 
I don’t think I am. But, I say, we mustn’t quarrel often 
then, for I shall grow old too soon.” 

“ I said we’d never quarrel again.” said Andrew 
seriously ; “ and somehow you are really a good deal 
older than I have thought. But, I say, we must go and 
meet Mr. Selby to-night.” 

“ Oh yes, of course ; and I shall always stand by and 
stop you in case you turn peppery to any one else, and 
stop you from fighting him.” 

If it was in a right cause you would not.” 

“ I shouldn’t ?” 

“ No ; I believe you would help me, and be ready to 
draw on my behalf.” 


ONE YEAR OLDER IN ONE DAY. 65 


Frank turned to the speaker with a thoughtful, far-off 
look in his eyes, as if he were gazing along the vista of 
the future at something happening far away. 

“ I hope that will never come,” he said quietly, “ for 
when I used to fight with my fists, as I said, I always 
forgot what I was about. How would it be if I held a 
drawn sword ?” 

“ You would use it as a gentleman, a soldier, and a 
man of honour should,” said Andrew warmly. 

“ Should I ?” said Frank sadly. 

“ Yes, I am sure you would.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE TRAITORS’ HEADS. 

W HERE is Mr. Selby’s club?” asked Frank, as 
they started that afternoon to keep their ap- 
pointment. 

“ You be patient, and Fll show you,” replied Andrew. 
“ But we are not going by water, are we ?” 

“ To be sure we are. It’s the pleasantest way, and 
we avoid the crowded streets. I am to introduce you, 
so I must be guide.” 

This silenced Frank, who sank back in his seat when 
they stepped into a wherry without hearing the order 
given to the waterman ; and once more his attention 
was taken up by the busy river scene, which so en- 
grossed his thoughts that he started in surprise on find- 
ing that they were approaching the stairs where they 
had landed upon their last visit, but he made no remark 
aloud. 

“ I did not know it was in the city,” he said, how- 
ever, to himself ; and when they landed, and Andrew 
began to make his way toward Fleet Street, his suspi 
cion was aroused. 

“ Is the club anywhere near that court where there 
was the fight ?” he said suddenly. 

” Eh ? Oh yes, very near ! This is the part of Lon- 
don where all the wits, beaux, ,and clever men meet for 
conversation. You learn more in one night listening 
than you do in a month’s reading. You’ll like it, I 
promise you.” 


THE TRAITORS’ HEADS. 


67 


Frank was silent, and in spite of his companion’s 
promise felt a little doubtful. 

“ Have you known Mr. Selby very long ?” he asked. 

“ Depends upon what you call long.” 

“ Do you like him ?” 

“ Oh yes, he’s a splendid fellow. So are his friends 
splendid fellows. You’ll like them too. Thorough gen- 
tlemen. Most of them of good birth.” 

Frank was silent again ; but he was becoming very 
observant now, as he noticed that, though they were 
going by a different way, they were tending toward the 
scene of their adventure, and the fight rose vividly be- 
fore his imagination. But all was perfectly quiet and 
orderly around. There were plenty of people about, 
but all apparently engaged in business matters, though 
all disposed to turn and look after the well-dressed 
youths, who seemed foreign to their surroundings. 

It was a relief to Frank to find that there were no 
signs of an idling crowd, and he was congratulating 
himself upon that fact when, after increasing his pace as 
if annoyed at being noticed, Andrew said sharply : 

“ Walk a bit faster. How the oafs do stare !” 

“ Why, Drew !” cried Frank, suddenly checking him- 
self, as his companion, who had led him to the spot 
from the opposite side, suddenly turned into the court 
where they had been wedged in the crowd. 

‘‘What is it?” said his companion impatiently. 
“ Come along, quick !” 

” But this is the place where they were fighting.” 

“ Of course ; I know it is. What of it ? They’re not 
fighting now.” 

As he spoke he was glancing rapidly up and down the 
court, and with his arm well through that of Frank he 
urged him on toward the door of the large house. 

Frank was annoyed at having, as he felt, been de- 
ceived as to their destination, and ready to hang back. 
But he felt that it would seem cowardly, and that An- 
drew’s silence had been from a feeling that if he had 


68 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


said where they were coming he would have met with a 
refusal, while the next moment the boy found himself 
in the passage of the house. 

A burly man, in a big snuff-coloured coat, confronted 
them, arranging a very curly wig as he came, but smiled, 
bowed, and drew back to allow the visitors to pass ; and 
with a supercilious nod Andrew led on, apparently quite 
familiar with the place, and turned up a broad, well- 
worn staircase, quite half of whose balusters were per- 
fectly new and unpainted, evidently replacing those 
broken out for weapons during the fight. 

The sight of these and their suggestions did not in- 
crease Frank’s desire to be there, but he went on up. 

“ For this time only,” he said to himself ; “ but I’m 
not going to let him cheat me again.” 

A buzz of voices issued from a partly opened door on 
the first floor, and Andrew walked straight in without 
hesitation, Frank finding himself in the presence of 
about twenty gentlemen, standing at one end of a long 
room, along whose sides were arranged small tables laid 
for dinner. 

The conversation stopped on the instant, and every 
eye was turned toward the new-comers, who doffed their 
hats with the customary formal bows, when, to the great 
relief of Frank, one gentleman detached himself from 
the group and came to meet them. 

“ How are you, Mr. Selby ?” said Andrew loudly. 

” The happier for seeing you keep your engagement, ” 
said their friend, the feeder of ducks, smiling. ” Mr. 
Gowan, I am delighted to find my prayer has not been 
vain. Let me introduce you to our friends here of the 
club. We look upon this as a home, where we are all 
perfectly at our ease ; and we wish our visitors — our 
neophytes — to feel the same. Gentlemen, let me intro- 
duce my guest, Mr. Frank Gowan. I think some of you 
have heard his father’s — Sir Robert Gowan’ s — name.” 

There was a warm murmur of assent, and to a man 
the party assembled pressed forward to bid the visitors 


THE TRAITORS’ HEADS. 


69 


welcome. So pleasantly warm was the reception given 
to him, and so genuine the efforts made to set him at 
his ease, that the lad’s feeling of diffidence and confu- 
sion soon began to pass away and with it the feeling of 
uneasiness ; for the boy felt that these gentlemen could 
not have been of the party engaged in the riot, and he 
had nearly persuaded himself that, as this was evidently 
a public tavern, quite another class of people had occu- 
pied the room on his previous visit to the place, only he 
could not make this explanation fit with Andrew' s^£Xr 
citement and desire to join in the fight. 

But he had little time for thought. His bland and 
pleasant-spoken host took up too much of his attention, 
chatting fluently about the most matter-of-fact occur- 
rences, political business being entirely excluded, and 
cleverly drawing the lads out in turn to talk about them- 
selves and their aspirations, so ably, indeed, that before 
the agreeable little dinner served to these three at a 
table close to the window was half over, Frank found 
that he was relating some of his country life and school 
adventures to his host, and that the gentlemen at the 
tables on either side were listening. 

The knowledge that he was being overheard acted as 
an extinguisher to the light of the boy’s oratory, and he 
stopped short. 

“ Well ?” said his host, with a pleasant smile ; while 
Andrew leaned back, apparently quite satisfied with the 
impression his companion was making. “ Pray go on. 
You drew the great trout close to the river-bank. Don’t, 
say you lost it after all.” 

“ Oh no, I caught it,” said Frank, colouring ; “but 
I am talking too much.” 

“ My dear boy,” said Mr. Selby, “ believe me, your 
fresh, young experiences are delightful to us weary men 
of the town. Cannot you feel how they revive our 
recollections of our own boyish days ? There, pray 
don’t think we are tired of anecdotes like this. Forbes 
here used to be fond of the country ; but he has grown 


7 ° 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


such a lover of town life and the court that he hardly 
mentions it now.” 

He went on playfully bantering Andrew, till quite a 
little passage of give-and-take ensued, which made 
Frank think of what a strange mixture of clever, vain 
boy and thoughtful man his fellow-page seemed to be, 
while his own heart sank as he began to make compari- 
sons, and he felt how thoroughly young he seemed to be 
amongst the clever men by whom he was surrounded. 

But all the time his ears were active, and he listened 
for remarks that would endorse his suspicions of the 
principles of the members. Still, not a word reached 
him save such as strengthened Andrew’s assurance that 
Mr. Selby was one of a party of clever men who liked 
to meet for social intercourse. The fight must have 
been with other people who occupied the room, he 
thought, and in all probability had nothing to do with 
this club at all. 

The evening passed -rapidly away, and before Frank 
realised that it was near the time when they ought to 
be back at St. James’s Mr. Selby turned to him. 

“ We are early birds here,” he said ; “ so pray excuse 
what I am about to say, and believe that I am delighted 
to have made your acquaintance, one which is the be- 
ginning, I feel, of a life friendship. Gentlemen,” he 
said, rising, “ it is time to part till our next meeting. 
Hands round, please, and then adieu.” 

He turned to Frank, and held out his hand with a 
smile. 

** Our little parting ceremony,” he said. 

The boy involuntarily held out his, ready to say good- 
bye ; but it was clasped warmly by Selby in his left 
and retained, while Andrew with a quick, eager look 
took his other. 

Frank stared, for the rest, who had increased by de- 
grees to nearly forty, all joined hands till they had 
formed a ring facing inward. 

What did it mean ? For a moment the boy felt ready 


THE TRAITORS’ HEADS. 


7i 


to snatch his hands away ; but as he thought of so 
doing, he felt the clasp on either side grow firmer, and 
in a clear, low voice their host said : 

“ Across the water.” 

“ Across the water,” was echoed in a low, deep mur- 
mur by every one but Frank. 

Then hand ceased to clasp hand, people began to 
leave, and Mr. Selby went quickly to the other end of 
the room. 

“ All over,” said Andrew, in a quick whisper. “ Now 
then off, or we shall get into trouble for being late.” 

“ Yes, let’s go,” said Frank, in a bewildered way ; 
and he went downstairs with his companion, and out 
into the cool, pleasant night air of the street. 

“ We shall have to walk,” said Andrew, “ so step 
out.” 

Frank obeyed in silence, and nothing more was said 
till, without thinking of where they were, they saw Tem- 
ple Bar before them. 

‘‘What did they mean by that?” said Frank sud- 
denly. 

“ By what ?” 

‘‘Joining hands together and saying ‘Across the 
water.’ ” 

“ Oh, nothing. A way of saying good-bye if you live 
in Surrey.” 

“ Don’t treat me as if I were a child,” cried Frank 
passionately. “ I’m sure it meant more than that.” 

“ Well, suppose it does, what then ?” 

“ What then ? Why, you have been tricking and de- 
ceiving me. Just too as it seemed that we were going 
to be the best of friends.” 

‘‘ Nonsense ! We are the best of friends, tied more 
tightly than ever to stand by each other to the end.” 

“ Then there is something in all this ?” 

“ Of course there is. You knew there was when we 
agreed to come.” 

“ I did not !” cried Frank indignantly ; “or if I 


72 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


thought that there might be, I felt that it was only a 
little foolish enthusiasm on your part, and that Mr. Selby 
was only a casual friend.” 

“ Oh no ; he is one of my best friends.” 

“ Drew, I shall never forgive you. It was mean and 
cruel to take me there in ignorance of what these men 
were.” 

” Very nice gentlemanly fellows, and you looked as if 
you enjoyed their society.” 

” I see it all clearly enough now,” continued Frank 
excitedly, and without heeding ; “ they are Jaco- 

bites.” 

” Not the only ones in London if they are.” 

“ And ‘ across the water ’ means that man — the Pre- 
tender.” 

“ Hush ! Don’t call people names,” said Andrew, in 
a warning whisper. “You never know who is next you 
in the street.” 

“ I don’t care who hears me. It is the truth.” 

” Don’t you be peppery now. Why, you were all ami- 
ability till we came away.” 

“ Because I could not think that there was anything 
in it. I could not believe you would play me such a 
trick.” 

” All things are fair in love and war,” said Andrew. 

“ It is a base piece of deception, and I’ll never trust 
you again.” 

“ Oh yes, you will, always. You’ll like them more 
and more every time you go.” 

” I go there again ? Never !” 

“ Oh yes, you will, often, because we all like you, and 
you are just the boy to grow into the man we want. I 
had no sooner mentioned your name to Mr. Selby than 
he said, ‘ Yes, he must join us, of course.’ ” 

” Join you ? Why, you are a band of conspirators.” 

“ Silence, I tell you ! That man in front heard you 
and turned his head.” 

” I don’t care.” 


THE TRAITORS’ HEADS. 


73 


“ Then I must make you. Look here, Frank, what- 
ever we are, you are the same.' ’ 

I !” cried the boy in horror. 

“ Of course. This is twice you have come to our club, 
and there is not a man there to-night who does not look 
upon you as our new brother.” 

“ Then they must be undeceived.” 

“ Impossible ! You have joined hands with us, and 
breathed our prayer for him across the water.” 

“ I did not ; I never opened my lips.” 

‘‘You seemed to ; anyhow, you clasped hands with 
us, and that is enough.” 

“ I refuse to have any dealings with your club, and 
for your sake as well as mine I shall acquaint my father 
with everything that has taken place.” 

“ That would not matter,” said Andrew coolly. “ But 
you will not. I introduced you to Mr. Selby, who had 
come on purpose to see you.” 

“ Then that feeding ducks was a design ?” 

“ Of course it was ; the spies and the guard might 
interfere with a stranger hanging about at the waterside, 
but they can have nothing to say to a man feeding the 
ducks.” 

“ Oh, what base treachery and deception ! But I will 
not be tricked like this. It was the act of a traitor.” 

“ It was the act of a friend to save you in the troubles 
that are to come.” 

“ I don’t care what you say. I will clear myself from 
even a suspicion of being an enemy of the King.” 

“ You are a friend of the King,” said Andrew, tight- 
ening his hold of his companion’s aj*m ; “ and you can- 
not draw back now.” 

“ I can, and will. Why can I not ? Who is to pre- 
vent me ?” 

“ Every man you saw there to-night — every man of 
the thousand who was not there. Frank boy, ours is a 
great and just cause, and the sentence on the man who 
has joined us and then turns traitor ” 


74 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ I have not joined.” 

“ You have, and I am your voucher. You are one of 
us now.’ ’ 

” And if I go back, what then ?” cried Frank con- 
temptuously. 

“ The sentence is death.” 

” Bah ! nonsense ! But let me tell you this, that the 
sentence really is death for him who, being the King’s 
servant, turns traitor. Who stands worse to night, you 
or I? — Oh !” ejaculated the boy quickly, and with a 
sharp ring of horror in his tones ; “ look there !” 

The moon was shining brightly now, full upon the 
grim-looking old city gateway, and Frank Gowan stood 
where he had stopped short, as if paralysed by the sight 
before him. 

‘‘Yes, I know,” said Andrew coolly, as he looked up ; 
“ I have seen them before. Traitors’ heads.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


FRANK HAS A BAD NIGHT. 

I WISH I had a better head,” sighed Frank, as he 
lay in bed that night ; ” it seems to get thicker 
and thicker, and as if every time I tried to think out 
what is the best thing to do it got everything in a knot.” 

He turned over, and lay hot and uncomfortable for a 
few minutes, and then perhaps for the hundredth time 
he turned over again, found his pillow comfortless, and 
jumped up into a sitting position, to punch and bang it 
about for some minutes, before returning it to its place, 
lying down, and finding it as bad as ever. 

“ It's of no use,” he groaned ; ” I shall never get a 
wink of sleep to-night. I wish I could get up and dress, 
and go for a walk out there in the cool by the side of 
the water ; but as soon as I got outside I should be chal- 
lenged by the guard. I don’t know the password, and 
I should be arrested and marched off to the guardroom. 
Even if I could get down there by the canal, I should 
feel no better, for I should be thinking of nothing else 
but feeding the ducks.” 

This thought made him twist and writhe in the bed to 
such an extent that the clothes refused to submit to the 
rough treatment, and glided off to seek peace and quiet- 
ness upon the floor. The pleasant coolness was grati- 
fying for a few minutes ; but the boy’s love of order put 
an end to his lying uncovered, and he sprang out of 
bed, dragged the truant clothing back, remade his bed 
extremely badly, and once more lay down. 

The occupation relieved him fora while, and he began 


76 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


to hope that he would go to sleep ; but the very fact of 
his endeavouring to lose consciousness made him more 
wakeful, and he lay with wide-open eyes, going over the 
events of the evening, till he got into a passion with 
Andrew Forbes, with Mr. George Selby, and most of 
all with himself. 

“ How could I be such an idiot as to go ? I ought to 
have known better. I might have been sure, after what 
I had seen, that there was something wrong. But then,” 
he groaned, “ I- did fancy something was wrong, and I 
went to try and keep Drew out of mischief. Oh, what 
an unlucky fellow I am ! 

“ It’s of no use,” was his next thought. ” I shall 
never do any good here, only keep on getting into trou- 
ble. Why, if this were to be known, it would bring dis- 
grace on my father and mother, and they would have to 
leave court — father would perhaps lose his commission. ” 

He sprang up again in horror at the very thought of 
this, drew up his knees, and passed his arms round 
them, to sit packed up with his chin upon his knees 
somewhat after the fashion of a Peruvian mummy. 

“ It’s horrible,” he groaned to himself — “ horrible, 
that’s what it is. And this is being what mother calls a 
good son. They’ll be nice and proud of me when they 
know. 

” Ah — h — h — h ! There goes that wretched old clock 
over the gateway again ! It can’t be five minutes since 
it chimed before. It seems to have been chiming ever 
since I came to bed. What time is it, I wonder ? Bah ! 
three-quarters past. Three-quarters past what ? Oh 
dear, how thirsty I am ! and I’ve had three glasses of 
water since I came to bed. Going to feed the ducks ! 
Oh, I wish I’d said I’d go out and fight with Drew, and 
pinked him as he calls it. He wouldn’t have been able 
to lead me into this scrape. But more likely he would 
have pinked me. Well, and a precious good thing too. 
It would have been all right, and I couldn’t then have 
gone. 


FRANK HAS A BAD NIGHT. 


77 


“ Phew ! how hot it is. My skin seems to prickle and 
tingle, as if somebody had been playing tricks with the 
bed ; and all this time I believe that miserable dandy 
Drew is snoring away, and not troubling a bit. There, 
if it isn’t chiming again ! It can’t be a quarter of an 
hour since I heard it last. Ting, tang. Last quarter. 
Well, go on ; four quarters, and then strike, and I shall 
know what time it is. What ! A quarter past ?. Well, 
a quarter past what ? Oh, that clock’s wrong. It 
chimed three-quarters just now. It can’t have chimed 
the four quarters since, and struck the hour ; it’s im- 
possible. I’m sure it must be wrong.” 

He threw himself down again in despair, feeling as if 
sleep were farther off than ever. 

“ Oh dear !” he moaned ; “ Drew told me I seemed 
a year older after that row. I feel another year older 
since then ; and if it goes on like this, I shall be like an 
old man by morning. But there, I’m not going to give 
up in this cowardly way. I’ll show Master Drew that 
I’m not such a boy as he thinks for. It’s all nonsense ! 
Just because I went and dined there with him and his 
friend, and was then led into standing up with them 
and joining hands, I’m to be considered as having joined 
them, and become a Jacobite ! Why, it’s childish ; and 
as to his threats of what they would do if I ran back, I 
don’t care, I won’t believe it. I’m not such a baby. 
Death indeed ! I’ve only just begun to live. 

“ Ugh ! it was very ugly, very shocking to see those 
heads stuck up there over Temple Bar ; and yet Drew 
took it as coolly as could be. Why, it was he who ought 
to have been frightened, not I. And I’m not fright- 
ened — I won’t be frightened. I won’t say anything; 
but I’m not going there again. No, I won’t speak — un- 
less they do threaten me. Then I must tell all. But 
only wait till morning, and I’ll have it out with Master 
Drew. Not quite so much of a schoolboy as he thinks 
me. 

There’ll be no steep for me to-night,” he said at 


78 


IN HONOUR'S CAUSE. 


last, in a resigned way. “ Well, it’s perhaps so much 
the better. I have been able to think out what I mean 
to do, and now I’ll just try and arrange what I shall 
say to Drew in the morning ; and, after that, I’ll get up 
and dress, and have a long read. I do wonder, though, 
what time it is.” 

He then lay wondering and waiting for the clock to 
chime again, but he did not hear it chime its next quar- 
ter, for now that he had made up his mind not to go to 
sleep, sleep came to him with one of those sudden seiz- 
ures which drop us in an instant into the oblivion which 
gives rest and refreshment to the wearied body and 
brain. 

Then, all at once, as he lay with his eyes closed, he 
did hear it plainly. 

“ Ah, at last !” he cried, — “ first quarter, second 
quarter, third quarter, fourth quarter. Now, then, I 
shall know what time it is.” 

The clock struck, and he counted — nine. 

Then he listened for more, opened his eyes, and 
stared in amazement at the light streaming through the 
shuttered windows, and leaped out of bed. 

“ Why,” he cried, “ it’s breakfast-time ! I must have 
been asleep after all.” 

Then he stood looking back into yesterday, for the 
evening’s proceedings came to him with a flash. 

“A Jacobite!” he said aloud; “and those heads 
upon the top of the gate !” 


CHAPTER X. 


IN THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA. 

I T was a bright morning ; but now it seemed to Frank 
Gowan that the world had suddenly turned back. 
Andrew Forbes met him in the most friendly way after 
breakfast. He was almost affectionate in his greeting. 

“ Didn’t dream about the traitors’ heads on Temple 
Bar, did you ?’ ’ 

“ No,” said Frank coldly. “ I lay awake and thought 
about them.” 

“Ugh!” ejaculated Andrew, with a shudder. “What 
gruesome things to take to bed with you. I didn’t ; I 
was so tired that I went off directly and slept like a top.” 
Frank looked at him in disgust. 

“ Hallo ! what’s the matter?” cried his fellow-page. 
“ Not well ?” 

“ I was wondering whether you had any conscience.” 
“ I say, hark at the se'rious old man !” cried Andrew 
merrily. “ Whatever made you ask that ?” 

“ Because it seemed impossible you could have one, 
to treat it all so lightly after taking me there last night.” 

“ I don’t see how you can call it that. You were in- 
vited, and you went with me.” 

“ That’s a contemptible piece of shuffling,” cried 
Frank. 

Andrew flushed up and frowned. 

“ Pooh !” he said, laughing it off. “You are tired 
and cross this morning. What a fellow you are for want- 
ing to quarrel. But we can’t do that, now we’re breth- 
ren.” 


8o 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ No, we are not,” said Frank hotly. “ I’ll have 
nothing to do with the miserable business.” 

“ Colt kicking on first feeling his harness,” said An- 
drew merrily. “ Never mind, Frank ; you’ll soon get 
used to it.” 

“ Never.” 

“ And it’s a grand harness to wear. I say, what’s the 
good of making a fuss about it ? You’ll thank me one 
of these days.” 

“ Then you have no conscience,” cried Frank sternly. 

“ Why, Frank, old boy, you make me feel quite young 
beside you. What a serious old man you’ve grown 
into ! But if you will have it out about conscience,” he 
continued warmly, after a glance at each of the doors 
opening out of the room in which they were, ” I’ll tell 
you this : my conscience would not let me, any more 
than would the consciences of thousands more, settle 
down to being ruled over by a German prince, invited 
here by a party of scheming politicians, to the exclusion 
of the rightful heir to the throne. What do you say to 
that ?” 

“ Only this,” said Frank : “ that you and I have noth- 
ing to do with such things as who ought to be king or 
who ought not. We’ie the Prince’s servants, and we 
are bound to do our duty to him and his father. If we 
go on as you propose, we become conspirators and 
traitors.” 

“ Oh, I say, what a sermon ; what a lot about noth- 
ing ! People don’t study these things in war and poli- 
tics. I’m for the simple right or wrong of things. I 
say it’s wrong for King George I. to be on the throne, 
so I shall not stick at trifles in fighting for the right.” 

“ Well, if you talk like that in a place where they say 
that walls have ears, you’ll soon save me the trouble 
and pain of speaking.” 

“ There was no one to hear but you, and you’re safe,” 
said Andrew, laughing. “ Brothers don’t betray broth- 
ers, for one thing ; and you know what I told you last 


IN THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA. 81 


night. If you were to betray us, your life would not be 
safe for a day.” 

“ Pish !” 

“ Oh, you take it that way, do you ? You think you 
are safe because you are here in the Palace, surrounded 
by guards. Now, I’ll tell you something that you don’t 
know. You believe that I am the only one here who is 
ready to throw up his hat and draw his sword for the 
King.” 

” Yes, and I’m right.” 

“ Only ignorant, Frank, my boy. Now listen. We 
Jacobites have people everywhere ready to strike when 
the time comes. Here in this Palace we have ladies and 
gentlemen forced to keep silence for the present, but 
who will be in ecstasies as soon as they know the good 
news Mr. Selby gave me last night. Why, the King’s 
and Prince’s households contain some of our staunchest 
people ; and if you like to go lower, there are plenty of 
us even among the Royal Guards. Now, what do you 
say to that ?” 

“ It can’t be true.” 

“ Very well ; I shan’t quarrel with your ignorance. 
But look here, Frank ; take my advice : Don’t you do 
anything foolish, for so sure as you betray any secret 
you possess there will be hundreds of hands against 
you — yes, boy as you are, and unimportant as you think 
yourself. If you breathe a word, it is not merely against 
me, but against the safety of scores here ; and to save 
themselves one or the other will send his sword through 
you at the first opportunity, wipe it, put it back in its 
sheath, and walk away. No one would be the wiser, 
and poor Frank Gowan, of whom his mother and father 
are so proud, would lie dead, while I should have lost the 
friend for whom I care more than for any one I ever met. 

“You don’t; it isn’t true,” cried Frank. “ If it were, 
you would not have led me into this scrape.” 

” Yes, I should. I tell you that you will thank me 
some day.” 


82 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“For making me a traitor ?” 

“ Nonsense ! Who can be a traitor who fights for his 
rightful king? There, let’s leave it now. You have 
been brought into the right way, and you are ready to 
fight against it because you don’t see the truth yet ; but 
it will all come out, and — very soon.’’ 

“ What ?’’ cried Frank, for there was a meaning look 
to accompany the latter words. 

“I’m not going to repeat what I said ; but you will 
soon see.’’ 

“ Then I must speak out at once. I shrank from it 
for fear of troubling my mother ; but now you force 
me to.’’ 

“ Don’t, Frank. I shouldn’t like to see you hurt.’’ 

“ Whether I’m hurt or whether I’m not is nothing to 
you.’’ 

“ Yes, it is. I have tofti you why. I couldn’t bear to 
see you struck down.’’ 

“ I don’t believe that I should be.’’ 

“ I do, and I don’t want you to risk it, for one thing. 
For the other, I don’t want to be arrested, and to have 
my head chopped off, for you couldn’t speak without 
getting me into trouble.’’ 

Frank stared at him with his purpose beginning to 
waver. 

“ I might get off easily, being what they would call a 
mere boy. But I don’t know ; perhaps they would 
think that, as I was in a particular position in the Pal- 
ace, they ought to make an example of me.’’ 

He laughed lightly as he threw himself into a seat by 
the window. 

“ I’ve no one to care about me except the dad, and a 
little more trouble wouldn’t hurt him very much. Per- 
haps he’d be proud because I died for the King. I say, 
would you like to know why I am such a steady follow- 
er of him across the water ?’’ 

Frank didn’t speak, but his eyes said yes. 

“ Because I found how my poor father was wrong- 


IN THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA. 83 


treated. He’s free, but he’s little better than a prison- 
er. He’s looked upon as a traitor, and I’m kept here 
principally as a sort of hostage to make him keep quiet. 
That’s it, and they’ll shorten me for certain if they find 
anything out. Poor old dad, though ; I dare say he’ll 
be sorry, for he likes me in his way.” 

The trampling of horses was heard in the distance, 
and Andrew turned sharply. 

“ Here they come again. How bright and gay they 
look this morning ! Ah ! I should have liked to live 
and be an officer in a regiment like that, ready to fight 
for my king ; but I suppose I am not to be tall enough,” 
he added, with a mocking laugh. “ Wonder whether 
they’ll stick my head on Temple Bar. Now, Frank, 
here’s your chance ; come and shout to the nearest offi- 
cer — ‘ Stop and arrest a traitor ! ’ Well, why don’t you ? 
He will hear you if you holloa well.” 

Frank made no reply. 

“Oh,” cried Andrew, “you are letting your chance 
go by. Well, perhaps it’s better, and it will give me 
time to send a message to warn the dear old dad. No, 
that wouldn’t do, because he would at once settle that 
it was your doing, and then — well, I should have signed 
your death-warrant, Franky. It would be all over with 
us both, and pretty soon. You first, though, for our 
people wouldn’t stop for a trial. I say : feel afraid ? 
Somehow I don’t. Perhaps that will come later on. 
Sure to, I suppose ; for it must be very horrible to have 
to die when one is so young, and with so many things 
to do. Going?” 

” Yes,” said Frank gravely, as he turned away. 

“ Good-bye, then. Perhaps we shan’t see each other 
again.” 

A peculiar thrill ran through Frank, and his heart 
gave one great throb. But he did not turn round. He 
went out of the room, to go somewhere to be alone — to 
try to think quietly out what he ought to do, and to 
solve the problem which would have been a hard one 


8 4 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


for a much older head, though at that moment it seemed 
to the boy as if he had suddenly grown very old, and 
that the present was separated from his happy boyish 
days by a tremendous space, 


CHAPTER XI. 


ANOTHER INVITATION. 

S EVERAL days passed, and at each fresh meeting 
Andrew Forbes looked at his fellow-page inquir- 
ingly, as if asking whether he had spoken out yet ; but 
the lad’s manner was sufficient to show that he had not, 
though Frank was very cool and distant when they were 
alone. 

Then Andrew began to banter his companion. 

“ Head’s all right yet,” he said one morning, laugh- 
ing ; and he gave it a slow twirl round like a ball in a 
socket. 44 Feels a bit loose sometimes ; not at all a 
pleasant sensation. You’re all right still, I see. Felt a 
bit nervous about you, though, once or twice.” 

Frank frowned slightly ; but Andrew went on. 

“ I noticed one of us trying the point of his sword ; 
and twice over after dark I saw men watching this win- 
dow, and that made me think that you must have 
spoken, especially as I saw Lady — well, never mind 
names — examining something she had drawn out of the 
bosom of her dress. She slipped it back as soon as she 
saw me, but I feel certain that it was a sort of bodkin or 
stiletto. 4 That’s meant for poor Frank,’ I said to my- 
self ; for, you know, in history women have often done 
work of that kind. But, there, you don’t seem to have 
any holes in you ; so I suppose you are all right for the 
present. ” 

“How can you joke about so serious a matter?” 
cried Frank. 

“ Because I want to put an end to this miserable pique 


86 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


between us,” cried Andrew warmly. “ It’s absurd, and 
I hate it. I thought we were to be always friends. I 
can’t bear it, Frank, for I do like you.” 

“ It was your doing,” said the lad coldly. 

“ No. It was the wretched state our country is in 
that did it all.” 

“You always get the better of me in arguments,” 
said Frank, “so I am not going to fight with you in 
that way. But I know I am right.” 

” And I know that I am right,” cried Andrew. 

“ I shall not, as I said before, try to argue with you. 
We could never agree.” 

” No ; it wants some one else to judge between us, 
and I’ll tell you who’s the man.” 

“ I don’t see how we can speak about our troubles.” 

“ No need to,” said Andrew. “ He’ll know all about 
it. Let’s leave it to old Father Time. He proves all 
things. But, I say, Frank, don’t be obstinate. There’s 
a meeting of the friends the day after to-morrow. You’ll 
come with me if we can get away ?” 

” I shall do all I can to stop you from going !” cried 
Frank. 

“ By betraying me ?” 

“ No ; I can’t do that. I promised to be your friend ; 
and though it may be my duty, I couldn’t do such a 
treacherous thing.” 

“ As if I didn’t know,” said Andrew, laying his arm 
on the lad’s shoulder. “ Do you think I would have 
been so open if I had not been sure of you ? There, you 
will come ?” 

” Never again. ” 

“ Never’s a long time, Frank. Come.” 

“ Once more, no !” 

“ To take care of me, and keep me from being too 
rash.” 

” 1 can’t betray you and your friends,” said Frank 
sadly ; “ but I can do all that is possible to save you 
from a great danger.” 


ANOTHER INVITATION. 


87 


“ And so can I you. I’m right.” 

“ No ; I am right.” 

“ You think so now ; but I know you will come round. 
In the meantime, thank you, Frank. I knew, I say, 
that you would be staunch ; but I’ll tell you this : a 
word now from you would mean the breaking up of that 
party in the city, and, unless I could warn them in time, 
the seizure and perhaps death of many friends, and 
amongst them of one whom 1 love. I told him every- 
thing about you, and of our friendship, and it was he 
who bade me to bring you out in the Park there, so that 
he might see you first, and judge for himself whether he 
should like you to join us.” 

“You mean Mr. George Selby ?” 

“ Yes, I mean Mr. George Selby,” said Andrew, with 
a peculiar smile and emphasis on his words. ” It was a 
very risky thing for him to come here close to the Pal- 
ace with so many spies about ; but throwing biscuits to 
the ducks was throwing dust in the people’s eyes as 
well.” 

” Yes. I felt that it was a trick,” said Frank sadly. 

“ Obliged to stoop to tricks now, my lad. Well, he 
was delighted with you, and told me how glad he was 
for me to have such a friend. He says you must be of 
us, Frank, so that in the good times ahead you may be 
one of the friends of the rightful king. You’ll like Mr. 
George Selby.” 

” I hate him,” said Frank warmly, “ for leading you 
astray, and for trying to lead me in the same evil 
way.” 

“ Tchut ! Some one coming.” 

The “ some one” proved to be the Prince with a train 
of gentlemen, nearly all of whom were Germans, and 
they passed through the anteroom on their way out. 

“ See that tall, light-haired fellow ?” said Andrew, as 
soon as they were alone again. 

“ The German baron ?” 

” Yes, the one in uniform.” 


88 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Yes. He’s the Baron Steinberg, a colonel in the 
Hanoverian Guards.” 

“ That’s the man. He came over on Saturday. Well, 
I hate him.” 

“ Why ? Because he’s a German ?” 

“ Pooh ! I shouldn’t hate a man because he was a 
foreigner. I hate him because he’s an overbearing bully, 
who looks down on everything English. He quite in- 
sulted me yesterday, and I nearly drew upon him. But 
I didn’t.” 

“ What did he do ?” 

“ Put his hand upon my shoulder, and pushed me 
aside. ‘ Out of the way, booby ! ’ he said in German. 
A rude boor !” 

“ Oh, it was his rough way, perhaps. You mustn’t 
take any notice of that.” 

“ Mustn’t I ?” exclaimed Andrew. “ We shall see. 
That isn’t all. I hate him for another thing.” 

“ You’re a queer fellow, Drew. I think you divide 
the world into two sets — those you hate and those you 
love. ” 

” And a good division too. But these German fellows 
want teaching a lesson, and somebody will be teaching 
it if they don’t mend. Oh ! I hate that fellow, and so 
ought you to.” 

“ Why ? Because he is a German ?” 

“ Not for that. I’ll tell you. I didn’t see you yester- 
day, or I’d have told you then. You were in the big 
reception-room ?” 

“ When my father was on duty with his company of 
the Guards ?” 

” Yes, and your mother was in the Princess’s train.” 

“ Yes, and I didn’t get one chance to speak to her.” 

“ Well, that fellow did ; he spoke to her twice, and I 
saw him staring at her insolently nearly all the time the 
Princess and her ladies were there.” 

“ Well ?” 

“ That is all,” said Andrew shortly. “ They’ll be at 


ANOTHER INVITATION. 


89 

her drawing-room this afternoon, and if I were you I 
should go and stop near Lady Gowan as much as I 
could.” 

“ I should like to,” said Frank, lookfhg at his friend 
wonderingly ; “ but of course I can’t go where I like.” 

A few minutes later one of the servants brought in a 
note and handed it to Frank, who opened it eagerly. 

“No answer,” he said to the man; and then he 
turned to his companion. “ Read,” he said. “ From 
my father.” 

Come and dine at the mess this evening, and bring 
Andrew Forbes,’ ” read the lad, and he flushed with 
pleasure. 

“ Of course you will not come,” said Frank mocking- 
ly. “You could not be comfortable with such a loyal 
party. ” 

“ With such a host as Captain Sir Robert Gowan !” 
cried Andrew. “ Oh yes, I could. I like him.” He 
smiled rather meaningly, and then the conversation 
turned upon the treat to come, both lads being enthusi- 
astic about everything connected with the military. 

This was broken into by the same servant entering 
with another note. 

“ My turn now, Frank,” said Andrew merrily ; “ but 
who’s going to write to me ?” 

To his annoyance, as he turned to take the note, the 
man handed it to Frank and left the antechamber. 

“ Well, you seem to be somebody,” cried Andrew, 
who now looked nettled. 

“ From my mother,” said Frank, after glancing 
through the missive. 

“ Lucky you ; mother and father both here. My poor 
father nowhere, hiding about like a thief. Talk about 
friends at court !” 

“It does seem hard for you,” said Frank. “See 
what she says.” 

“ H’m ! ‘ So sorry not to be able to speak to you 

yesterday. Come to my rooms for an hour before the 


9 ° 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


reception this afternoon. I long to see you, my dear 
boy.’” 

Andrew handed back the letter with a sigh. 

“ Lucky you, Frank. I say, don’t repeat what I said 
about yesterday.” 

‘‘ Of course not.” 

“ That’s right. Men talk about things when they are 
alone which would frighten ladies. She might get 
thinking that I should get up a quarrel with that Stein- 
berg.” 

“ I’m sure my mother wouldn’t think anything of the 
sort,” said Frank, smiling at his friend’s conceit. 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Andrew importantly. 
“ Yes I do, though. It was a rather stupid remark. 
But I wish I were you, Frank,” he continued, with a 
genuine unspoiled boyish light coming into his eyes, 
which looked wistful and longing. “ Perhaps if I had 
a mother and father here in the court, I should be as 
loyal as you are.” 

‘‘ Of course you would be. Well, they like you. 
You’re coming to dine with my father to-night, and I 
wish I could take you with me to see my mother early 
this afternoon.” 

‘‘Do you — do you really, Frank?” cried the lad 
eagerly. 

“ Of course I do ; you know I always say what I 
mean.” 

‘‘Then thank you,” cried the lad warmly; ‘‘that’s 
almost as good as going.” 

“ I’ll ask her to invite you next time. Hallo ! where 
are you off to ?” 

“ Only to my room for a bit.” 

“ What for ? Anything the matter ?” 

‘‘Matter? Pish! Well, yes. I’m thinking I’d bet- 
ter be off, for fear, instead of my converting you, you’ll 
be taking advantage of my weakness, offering me a share 
in Sir Robert and Lady Gowan for a bribe, and con- 
verting me.” 




ANOTHER INVITATION. 


9i 


“ I wish I could,” said Frank to himself, as his com- 
panion hurried out of the room. “ Why not ? Suppose 
I were to take my mother into my confidence, and ask 
her to try and win him away from what is sure to end 
in a great trouble !” 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE TROUBLE GROWS. 



RANK was thinking in this strain when he went to 


_L his mother’s rooms in the Palace soon after, and 
her maid showed him at once to where she was sitting 
reading, having dressed for the Princess’s reception in 
good time, so as to be free to receive her son. 

“ Oh !” ejaculated the maid, as she was just about to 
leave the room ; and there was a look of dismay in her 
countenance. 

“ What is it?” cried Lady Gowan, turning sharply, 
with her son clasped in her arms. 

“ Your dress, my lady — the lace. It will be crushed 


flat. 


“ Oh,” said Lady Gowan, with a merry laugh, “ never 
mind that. Come in an hour and set all straight again. ” 

“ Yes, my lady,” said the maid ; and mother and son 
were left alone. 

“As if we cared for satins and laces, Frank darling, 
at a time like this. My own dear boy,” she whispered, 
as she kissed him again and again, holding his face be- 
tween her white hands and gazing at him proudly. 
“ There, I’m crushing your curls.” 

“ Go on,” said Frank ; “ crush away. You can brush 
them for me before I go — like you used to when I was 
home for the holidays.” 

“ In the dear old times, Frank darling,” cried Lady 
Gowan, “ when we did not have to look at each other 
from a distance. But never mind ; we shall soon go 
down into the country for a month or two, away from 


THE TROUBLE GROWS. 


93 


this weary, formal court, and then we’ll have a happy 
time.” 

Frank gazed proudly at his mother again and again 
during that little happy interview, which seemed all 
sunshine as he looked back upon it from among the 
clouds of the troubles which so soon came ; and he 
thought how young and girlish and beautiful she ap- 
peared. “ The most beautiful lady at the court,” he 
told himself, “ as well as the sweetest and the best.” 

Time after time the words he wished to speak rose to 
his lips, for the longing to make her his confidante over 
the Jacobite difficulty was intense. But somehow at the 
critical moments he either shrank from fear of causing 
her trouble and anxiety, or else felt that he ought not 
to run the risk of bringing Andrew into trouble after 
what had passed. He knew that Lady Gowan would 
not injure the mistaken lad ; but still there was the risk 
of danger following. Besides, he had to some extent 
confided in his father, and would probably say more ; so 
that if it was right that Lady Gowan should know, his 
father would speak. 

She gave him very little chance for making confi- 
dences till just at the end of the hour she had set apart 
for him, when the maid appeared to repair the disorder 
which she alone could see, but was dismissed at once. 

“ Another ten minutes by the clock, and then Mr. 
Frank will be going.” 

The maid withdrew. 

“ Oh, how time flies, my darling !” said the lady. 
“ And I had so many more things to say to you, so much 
advice to give to my dearest boy. But I am proud to 
have you here, Frank. Your father’s so much away from 
me, that it is nice to feel that I have my big, brave son 
to protect me.” 

Frank coloured, and thought of his companion’s 
words. 

“ It reconciles me more to being here, my boy,” she 
continued ; “for you see it means your advancement as 


94 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


well. But these are very anxious, troublous times for 
both your father and me. And you are going to dine 
with him at the mess this evening. Well, you are very 
young, and I want to keep you still a boy ; but, heigho ! 
you are growing fast, and will soon be a man. So be 
careful and grow into the brave, honourable, loyal gen- 
tleman I wish you to be.” 

“ I will try so hard,” he said eagerly ; and once more 
he longed to speak out, but she gave him no time, 
though at the last moment he would hardly have spoken. 
As it was, he stood feeling as if he were very guilty 
while she held his hand. 

“ Of course, my dear,” she said, “ you are too young 
to have taken any interest in the political troubles of the 
time ; but I want you to understand that it’s the hap- 
piest thing for England to be as it is, and I want you as 
you grow older to be very careful not to be led away by 
discontented men who may want to plunge the country 
into war by bringing forward another whom they wish 
to make king.” 

“ Mother !” began Frank excitedly. 

” Don’t interrupt me, dear. In a few minutes you 
must go. Whatever feelings your father and I may at 
one time have had, we are now fixed in our determina- 
tion to support those who are now our rulers. The 
Prince has been very kind to us, and the Princess has 
become my dearest friend. I believe she loves me, 
Frank, and I want her to find that my boy will prove 
one of her truest and best followers. I want you 
to grow up to be either a great soldier or states- 
man.” 

“ I shall be a soldier like my father,” said Frank 
proudly. 

“We shall see, Frank,” said Lady Gowan, smiling. 
“ You are too young yet to decide. Wait a little — bide 
a wee, as they say in the north country. Now you must 
go ; but you will promise me to be careful and avoid all 
who might try to lead you away. Think that your 


THE TROUBLE GROWS. 


95 


course is marked out for you — the way to become a true, 
loyal gentleman.” 

“ I promise, mother,” said the lad firmly. 

“ Of course you do, my boy,” said Lady Gowan 
proudly. “ There, kiss me and go. I have to play but- 
terfly in the court sunshine for a while ; but how glad 
shall I be to get away from it all to our dear old coun- 
try home.” 

“ And so shall I, mother,” cried Frank, with his eyes 
sparkling. 

“ For a holiday, Frank. Life is not to be all play, 
my boy ; and recollect that play comes the sweeter after 
good work done. There, I had you here for a pleasant 
chat, and I have done nothing -but give you lessons on 
being loyal to your King ; but we are separated so much, 
I have so few opportunities for talking to you, that I am 
obliged to give you a little serious advice.” 

“ Go on talking to me like that, mother,” said the 
boy, clinging to her. “ I like to hear you.” 

“ And you always will, won’t you, Frank ?” 

“ Of course,” he said proudly. 

“ One word, Frank, dear, and then you must go. Do 
you know why I have spoken like this ? No, I will not 
make a question of it, but tell you at once. Andrew 
Forbes” — Frank started and changed colour — ” is your 
very close companion, and with all his vanity and little 
weaknesses, he is still a gallant lad and a gentleman. 
Poor boy ! he is very strangely placed here at the court, 
an attendant on the Prince and Princess, while his father 
is known to be a staunch adherent of the Pretender — a 
Jacobite. He was your father’s closest friend, and I 
knew his poor wife — Andrew’s mother — well. It was 
very sad her dying so young, and leaving her mother- 
less boy to the tender mercies of a hard world just when 
dissensions led his father to take the other side. The 
Princess knows everything about him, and it was at my 
request that he was placed here, where I could try and 
watch over him. Now, naturally enough, Andrew has 


9 6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


leanings toward his father’s side ; but he must be taught 
to grow more and more staunch to the King, and I want 
you, who are his closest companion, to carefully avoid 
letting him influence you, while you try hard to wean 
him from every folly, so that, though he is older in some 
things, he may learn the right way from my calm, grave, 
steady boy.” 

“ But, mother ” 

“ Yes,” she said, smiling ; “ I can guess what you are 
about to say. Go, dearest. No : not another word. — 
Yes, I am ready now.” 

This to her maid, who was standing in the doorway, 
looking very severe ; and Frank was hurried out to re- 
turn to his own quarters.' 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A VERY BAD DINNER. 

“ A ND I could have told her so easily then,” thought 

XA. Frank, as he went away feeling proud and 
pleased, and yet more troubled than ever. ” Wean An- 
drew from his ideas ? I wonder whether I could. Of 
course I shall try hard ; and if I succeeded, what a 
think to have done ! I’m not going to think which side 
is right or wrong. We’re the King’s servants, and have 
nothing to do with such matters. Drew has been trying 
to get me over to their side. Now I’m going to make 
him come to ours, in spite of all the Mr. George Selbys 
in London.” 

That afternoon the Princess’s reception-rooms were 
crowded by a brilliant assemblage of court ladies and 
gentlemen, many of whom were in uniform ; and there 
was plenty to take the attention of a lad fresh from the 
country, without troubling himself about political mat- 
ters. He saw his father, but not to speak to. The lat- 
ter gave him a quick look and a nod, though, which the 
boy interpreted to mean, “ Don’t forget this evening.” 

“Just as if I am likely to,” thought Frank, as he 
gazed proudly after the handsome, manly-looking offi- 
cer. He had a glimpse or two of his mother, who was 
in close attendance upon the Princess, and with a natu- 
ral feeling of pride the lad thought to himself that his 
father and mother were the most royal-looking couple 
there. 

At last he found himself close to Andrew Forbes, who 


9 8 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


eagerly joined him, their duties having till now kept 
them separate. 

“ Isn’t it horrible ?” said Andrew, with a look of dis- 
gust in his flushed face. 

“ Horrible ! I thought it the grandest sight I have 
ever seen. What do you mean by horrible ?’ ’ 

“ This guttural chattering of the people. Why, you 
can hardly hear an English word spoken. It’s all double 
Dutch, till I feel as if my teeth were set on edge.” 

“ Nonsense ! Good chance to learn German.” 

“ I’d rather learn Hottentot. Look too what a lot of 
fat, muffin-faced women there are, and stupid, smoky, 
sourkraut-eating men. To my mind there are only two 
people worth looking at, and they are your father and 
mother.” 

Frank, who had felt irritated at his companion’s per- 
sistent carping, began to glow, for he felt that his com- 
panion’s words were genuine. 

” Yes, they do look well, don’t they ?” 

“ Splendid. I do like your mother, Frank.” 

“ Well, she likes you.” 

” H’m. I don’t know,” said the lad dubiously. 

“ But I do,” said Frank quickly. ” She told me so 
only this afternoon.” 

” What ! Here, tell me what she said.” 

“ That she knew your mother so well, and that it was 
sad about her dying so young, and that she felt, as I 
took it, something the same toward you as she did tow- 
ard me.” 

“ Did — did she talk like that, Frank ?” said Andrew, 
with his lower lip quivering a little. 

“Yes ; and told me she hoped I should always be a 
good friend to you, and keep you out of mischief.” 

“ Stuff !” cried Andrew. “ I’m sure she did not say 
that.” 

“ She did,” said Frank warmly. ” Not in those 
words, perhaps ; but that was what she meant.” 

Andrew laughed derisively. 


A VERY BAD DINNER. 


99 


“ Why, I’m a couple of years nearly older than you.” 

“ So she said ; but she spoke as if she thought that I 
could influence you.” 

“ Bless her !” said Andrew warmly. “ I feel as proud 
of her as you do, Frank, only I’m sorry for her to be 
here amongst all these miserable German people. Look, 
there’s that stuck-up, conceited Baron Brokenstone, or 
whatever his name is. A common German adventurer, 
that’s what he is ; and yet he’s received here at 
court.” 

“ Well, he’s one of the King’s Hanoverian generals.” 

“ I should like to meet him under one of our gen- 
erals,” said Andrew. “ I consider it an insult for a fel- 
low like that to be speaking to your mother — our moth- 
er, Frank, if she talks about me like that. I hate him, 
and feel as if I should like to go and hit him across 
the face with my glove.” 

“What for? Oh, I say, Drew, what a hot-headed 
fellow you are.” 

“ It isn’t my head, Franky ; it’s my heart. It seems 
to burn when I see these insolent Dutch officers lording 
it here, and smiling in their half-contemptuous, half-in- 
sulting way at our English ladies. Ugh ! I wonder your 
father doesn’t stop it. Look at him yonder, standing 
as if he were made of stone. I shall tell him what I 
think to-night.” 

“ You would never be so foolish and insulting,” said 
Frank warmly. “ He would be angry.” 

“ No, I suppose I must not,’’ said Andrew gloomily. 
“ He would say it was the impertinence of a boy.” 

They had to separate directly after, and a, few min- 
utes later Frank saw his father crossing the room tow- 
ard the door. Frank was nearest, and by a quick move- 
ment reached it first, and stepped outside so as to get a 
word or two from him as he came out. But Sir Robert 
was stopped on his way, and some minutes elapsed be- 
fore Frank saw the manly, upright figure emerge from 
the gaily dressed crowd which filled the anteroom, and 


IOO 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


stride toward him, but evidently without noticing his 
presence. 

“ Father,” he whispered. 

Sir Robert turned upon him a fierce, angry face, his 
eyes flashing, and lips moving as if he were talking to 
himself. But the stern looks softened to a smile as he 
recognised his son, and he spoke hurriedly : 

“ Don’t stop me, my boy ; I’m not fit to talk to you 
now. Oh, absurd !” 

“Is anything the matter, father?” said Frank anx- 
iously, as he laid his hand on his father’s arm. 

“Matter? Oh, nothing, boy. Just a trifle put out. 
The rooms are very hot. There, I must go. Don’t for- 
get to-night, you and young Forbes.” 

He nodded and strode on, leaving his son wondering ; 
for he had never seen such a look before upon his 
father’s face. 

He thought no more of it then, for his attention was 
taken up by the coming of the Princess with her ladies, 
the reception being at an end ; while soon after Andrew 
Forbes joined him, and begun questioning him again 
about Lady Gowan, and what she had said about his 
dead mother, ending by turning Frank’s attention from 
the emotion he could hardly hide by saying banteringly : 

“ You’ll have to be very strict with me, Frank, or 
you’ll have a great deal of trouble to make me a good 
boy.” 

“ I shall manage it,” said Frank, with a laugh ; and 
not very long after they were on their way to the 
Guards’ messroom, both trying to appear cool and un- 
concerned, but each feeling nervous at the idea of din- 
ing with the officers. 

Sir Robert was there, looking rather flushed and ex- 
cited, as he stood talking to a brother-officer in the 
large room set apart for the Guards ; but his face lit up 
with a pleasant smile as the boys entered, and he greeted 
them warmly, and introduced them to the officer with 
him. 


A VERY BAD DINNER. 


IOI 


“ Makes one feel old, Murray,” he said, “ to have a 
couple of great fellows like these for sons.” 

“ Sons ? I thought that ” began the officer. 

“ Oh, about this fellow,” said Sir Robert merrily. 
“ Oh, yes, he’s Forbes’s boy ; but Lady Gowan and I 
seem to have adopted him like. Sort of step-parents to 
him — eh, Andrew ?” 

“ I wish I could quite feel that, Sir Robert,” said An- 
drew warmly. 

“ Well, quite feel it then, my lad,” said Sir Robert, 
clapping him on the shoulder. “ It rests with you. — 
Think Frank here will ever be man enough for a soldier, 
Murray ?” 

“Man enough? Of course,” said the officer ad- 
dressed. “ We must get them both commissions as 
soon as they’re old enough. Forbes might begin now.” 

“ H’m ! Ha !” said Sir Robert, giving the lad a dry 
look. “ Andrew Forbes will have to wait a bit.” 

Then, seeing the blood come into the lad’s face at the 
remark which meant so much : 

“ He’s going to wait for Frank here. — Well, isn’t it 
nearly dinner-time ? — Hungry, boys ?” 

“ Er — no, sir,” said Andrew. 

“ Frank is,” said Sir Robert, smiling at his son. 

“ Can’t help it, father,” said the boy frankly. “ I 
always am.” 

“ And a capital sign too, my lad,” said the officer ad- 
dressed as Murray. “ There’s nothing like a fine healthy 
appetite in a boy. It means making bone and muscle, 
and growing. Oh, yes, he’ll be as big as you are, 
Gowan. Make a finer man, I’ll be bound.” 

“ Don’t look like it,” said Sir Robert merrily ; “ why, 
the boy’s blushing like a great girl.” 

The conversation was ended by the entrance of sev- 
eral other officers, who all welcomed the two lads warm- 
ly, and seemed pleased to do all they could to set at their 
ease the son and protege of the most popular officer in 
the regiment. 


102 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


Captain Murray, his father’s friend, was chatting with 
Frank, when he suddenly said : 

“ Here are the rest of the guests.” 

Six German officers entered the room, and Frank start- 
ed and turned to glance at his father, and then at An- 
drew, whom he found looking in his direction ; but Sir 
Robert had advanced with the elderly colonel of the 
regiment, and Captain Murray rose as well. 

” I shall have to play interpreter,” he said, smiling. 
“ Come along, and the colonel will introduce you two, 
or I will. They don’t speak any English ; and if you 
two do not, your father and I are the only men present 
who know German.” 

The introductions followed, and feeling very uncom- 
fortable all the while, Frank and his companion were in 
due course made known to Baron Steinberg, Count Von 
Baumhof, and to the four other guests, whose names he 
did not catch ; and then, by the help of Captain Murray 
and Sir Robert, a difficult conversation was carried on, 
the German officers assuming a haughty, condescending 
manner toward the Guardsmen, who were most warm 
in their welcome. 

At the end of a few minutes Captain Murray returned 
to where the two lads were standing, leaving Sir Robert 
trying his best to comprehend the visitors, and translat- 
ing their words to the colonel and his brother-officers. 

“ Rather an unthankful task,” said the Captain, smil- 
ing. “ These Germans treat us as if they had conquered 
the country, and we were their servants. Never mind ; 
I suppose it is their nature to.” 

“ Yes,” said Andrew warmly ; “ they make my blood 
boil. I know I am only a boy ; but that was no reason 
why they should insult Frank Gowan here and me with 
their sneering, contemptuous looks.” 

“ Never mind, my lad. I noticed it. Show them, 
both of you, that you are English gentlemen, and know 
how to treat strangers and guests.” 

“ Yes, yes, of course,” said Frank hastily. 


A VERY BAD DINNER. 


103 


“ They will be more civil after dinner. Ah, and there 
it is.” 

For the door was thrown open, one of the servants 
announced the dinner, and the colonel led off with Baron 
Steinberg, after saying a few words to Sir Robert, who 
came directly to his brother-officer. 

” The colonel wishes the places to be changed, Mur- 
ray,” he said, “ so that you and I can be closer to the 
head of the table on either side, to do the talking with 
the visitors. I wish you would take my boy here on 
your left. Forbes, my lad, you come and sit with me.” 

Andrew had begun to look a little glum at being set 
on one side on account of the German officers ; but at 
Sir Robert’s last words he brightened up a little, and 
they followed into the messroom, which was decorated 
with the regimental colours ; the hall looked gay with 
its fine display of plate, glass, flowers, and fruit, and the 
band was playing in a room just beyond. 

The scene drove away all the little unpleasantry, and 
the dinner proceeded, with the colonel and his officers 
doing their best to entertain their guests, but only seem- 
ing to succeed with the two pages of honour, to whom 
everything was, in its novelty, thoroughly delightful. 
The German officers, though noblemen and gentlemen, 
gave their hosts a very poor example of good breeding, 
being all through exceedingly haughty and overbearing, 
and treating the attempts of Sir Robert and Captain 
Murray to act as their interpreters to the colonel and the 
other officers with a contempt that was most galling ; 
and more than once Frank saw his father, who was op- 
posite, bite his lip and look across at Captain Mur- 
ray, who, after one of these glances, whispered to 
Frank : 

“ Your dad’s getting nettled, my lad, and I find it 
very consoling.” 

“ Why ?” said Frank, who felt annoyed with himself 
for enjoying the evening so much. 

“ Why ? Because I was fancying that I must have a 


104 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


very hasty temper for minding what has been taking 
place. Do you know any German at all ?” 

“ Very little,” said Frank quickly. 

“ What a pity ! You could have said something to 
this stolid gentleman on my right. He seems to think 
I am a waiter.” 

“ I thought he was very rude several times.” 

‘‘ Well, yes, I suppose we must call it rude. The 
poor old colonel yonder is in misery ; he does hardly 
anything but wipe his forehead. Does not young 
Forbes speak German ?” 

“ No, he hates it,” said Frank hastily. 

‘ * Enough to make him, ’ ’ muttered the captain. ‘ ‘ But 
never mind ; you must both come and dine with us an- 
other time, when we are all Englishmen present. This 
is a dreary business ; but we must make the best of it.” 

He turned to say something courteous to the heavy, 
silent officer on his right, but it was coldly received, and 
after a few words the German turned to converse with 
one of his fellow-countrymen, others joined in, and the 
colonel looked more troubled and chagrined than ever. 

The dinner went slowly on ; and at last, with the con- 
versation principally carried on by the German guests, 
who were on more than one occasion almost insolent to 
their entertainers, the dessert was commenced, several 
of the officers drawing their chairs closer, and a young 
ensign, who looked very little older than Frank, whis- 
pered to him : 

“ I heard your father say that you were coming into 
the army.” 

‘‘Yes, I hope to,” replied the lad. 

“ Then you set to at once to study German. We shall 
be having everything German soon.” 

‘‘Then I shall not join,” said Andrew across the 
table ; and the officer on his right laughed. 

Sir Robert and Captain Murray were too much occu- 
pied now to pay any attention to their young guests, 
who found the officers below them eager to make up for 


A VERY BAD DINNER. 


T °5 

this, and they began chatting freely, so that this was the 
pleasantest part of the evening. But at the upper part 
of the table matters were getting more strained. The 
colonel and his friends whom he had placed with the 
foreign guests, after trying hard all through to make 
themselves agreeable and to entertain the visitors, had 
received so many rebuffs that they became cold and 
silent, while the Germans grew more and more loud in 
their remarks across the table to each other. Many of 
these remarks were broad allusions to the country in 
which they were and its people, and the annoyance he 
felt was plainly marked on Sir Robert’s brow in deeply 
cut parallel lines. 

Ignoring their hosts, the visitors now began to cut 
jokes about what they had seen, and from a word here 
and there which, thanks to his mother, Frank was able 
to grasp, they were growing less and less particular 
about what they said. 

Baron Steinberg had had a great deal to say in a 
haughtily contemptuous manner, and Frank noticed 
that whenever he spoke his friends listened to him with 
a certain amount of deference, as if he were the most 
important man present. He noted, too, that when the 
baron was speaking his father looked more and more 
stern, but whenever it fell to his lot to interpret some- 
thing said by the colonel he was most studiously cour- 
teous to the guest. 

Frank had grown interested in an anecdote being re- 
lated for his and Andrew’s benefit by one of the young 
officers below, and as it was being told very humorously 
his back was half turned to the upper part of the table, 
and he was leaning forward so as not to miss a word. 
At the same time, though, he was half conscious that 
the baron, on the colonel’s right, was talking loudly, 
and saying something which greatly amused his com- 
patriots, when all at once Sir Robert Gowan sprang to 
his feet, and Captain Murray cried across the table to 
him : 


io6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Gowan ! for Heaven’s sake take no notice.” 

Frank’s heart began to throb violently, as he saw his 
father dart a fierce look at his brother-officer, and then 
take a couple of strides up the side of the table to where 
the baron sat on the colonel’s right. 

“Gowan, what is the matter?” cried the colonel. 
“ What has he said ?” 

“ I’ll interpret afterwards, sir,” said Sir Robert, in a 
deep, hoarse voice, “ when we are alone then fiercely 
to the baron in German : “ Take back those words, sir. 
It is an insult — a lie !” 

The baron sprang to his feet, his example being fol- 
lowed by his brother-officers, and, leaning forward, he 
seemed about to strike, but with a brutally contemptu- 
ous laugh he bent down, caught up his glass, and threw 
it and its contents in Sir Robert’s face. 

Every one had risen now, and Captain Murray made 
a rush to reach the other side ; but before he was half- 
way there, Frank had seen his father dart forward, there 
was the sound of a heavy blow, and the German baron 
fell back with his chair, the crash resounding through 
the room, but only to be drowned by the fierce roar of 
voices, as the German officers clapped their hands to 
their swordless sides, and then made a rush to seize Sir 
Robert. 

The colonel could not speak a word of German, but 
his looks and gestures sufficed as he sprang before them. 

“ Keep back, gentlemen !” he said ; “ I am in igno- 
rance of the cause of all this.” 

“A most gross insult, sir!” cried Captain Murray 
angrily. 

“Silence, sir!” cried the colonel. “These gentle- 
men were my guests, and whatever was said Captain Sir 
Robert Gowan has committed an unpardonable breach 
of social duty. To your quarters, sir, without a 
word.” 

“ Right, colonel,” replied Sir Robert quietly, as he 
stood pale and stern, returning the vindictive looks of 


A VERY BAD DINNER. 


107 


the German guests, who would have attacked him but 
for the action taken by his brother-officers. 

What took place afterward was confused to Frank by 
the giddy excitement in his brain ; but he was conscious 
of seeing the baron assisted to a chair, and then talking 
in savage anger to his compatriots, while at the other 
end of the room there was another knot where the 
younger officers and Captain Murray were with Sir 
Robert. 

“ It was a mad thing to do, Gowan,” cried the former. 

“ Flesh and blood could not bear it, lad,” replied 
Frank’s father. “ Mad ? What would you have done 
if in the presence of your son those words had been ut- 
tered ?” 

“As you did, old lad,” cried Captain Murray, with 
his face flushing, “ and then stamped my heel upon his 
face.” 

There was a low murmur of satisfaction from the 
young officers around. 

“ Hah !” said Sir Robert. “ I thought so.” Then 
with a quiet smile he caught Andrew’s and Frank’s 
hands : “ So sorry, my dear boys, to have spoiled your 
evening. Go now. — Murray, old lad, see them off, and 
then come to my quarters.” 

“ Oh, Sir Robert,” whispered Andrew, clinging to his 
hand, and speaking in a low, passionate voice, “ I am 
glad. That did me good.” 

“ What ! You understood his words ?” 

“I? No.” 

“ That’s right ! Go now, Frank boy. One moment, 
my lad. You are suddenly called upon to act like a 
man.” 

“ Yes, father ! What do you want me to do ?” 

“ Keep silence, my lad. Not a word about this must 
reach your mother’s ears.” 

“ Come, Frank, my lad,” said Captain Murray gen- 
tly. “ You are better away from here.” 

The words seemed to come from a distance, but the 


io8 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


lad started and followed the captain outside, where the 
young officers gathered about him, eager to shake hands 
and tell him that they were all so glad ; but he hardly 
heard them, and it was in a strangely confused way that 
he parted from Captain Murray, who said that he could 
go no farther, as he wanted to hurry back to Sir Robert. 

Then the two lads were alone. 

“What does it all mean, Drew?” cried Frank pas- 
sionately. “ Oh, I must go back. It’s cowardly to 
come away from my father now.’’ 

“ You can’t go to him. He’ll be under arrest.’’ 

“ Arrest !’’ cried Frank. 

“ Yes, for certain. But don’t look like that, lad. It’s 
glorious — it’s grand.’’ 

“ But arrest ? He said it was an insult. They can’t 
punish him for that.’’ 

“ Punishment ? Pooh ! What does that matter ? 
Every gentleman in the army will shout for him, and 
the men throw up their caps. Oh, it’s grand — it’s 
grand ! And they’ll meet, of course ; and Sir Robert 
must — he shall — he will too. He’ll run the miserable 
German through.’’ 

“ What ? Fight ! My father fight — with him ?’’ 

“Yes, as sure as we should have done after such a 
row at school.’’ 

“ But — with swords ?” 

“ Officers don’t fight with fists.’’ 

“ Oh !’’ cried Frank wildly ; “ then that’s what he 
meant when he said that my mother must not know.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Frank’s dreadful dawn. 

F RANK GOWAN lay awake for hours that night 
with his brain in a wild state of excitement. The 
scene at the dinner, the angry face of his father as he 
stood defying the baron’s friends after striking the Ger- 
man down, the colonel’s stern interference, and his 
orders for Sir Robert to go to his quarters — all troubled 
him in turn ; then there was the idea of his father being 
under arrest, and the possibility of his receiving some 
punishment, all repeating themselves in a way which 
drove back every prospect of sleep, weary as the lad 
was ; while worst of all, there was Andrew Forbes’s re- 
mark about an encounter to come, and the possible 
results. 

It was too horrible. Suppose Sir Robert should be 
killed by the fierce-looking baron ! Frank turned cold, 
and the perspiration came in drops upon his temples as 
he thought of his mother. He sat up in bed, feeling 
that he ought to go to his father and beg of him to es- 
cape anywhere so as to avoid such a terrible fate. But 
the next minute his thoughts came in a less confusing 
way, and he knew that he could not at that late hour 
get to his father’s side, and that even if he could his 
ideas were childish. His father would smile at him, 
and tell him that they were impossible — that no man of 
honour could fly so as to avoid facing his difficulties, for 
it would be a contemptible, cowardly act, impossible for 
him to commit. 

“ I know — I know,” groaned the boy, as he flung 


I IO 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


himself down once more. “ I couldn’t have run away 
to escape from a fight at school. It would have been 
impossible. Why didn’t I learn German instead of 
idling about as I have ! If I had I should have knowtf 
what the baron said. What could it have been ?” 

The hours crept sluggishly by," and sleep still avoided 
him. Not that he wished to sleep, for he wanted to 
think ; and he thought too much, lying gazing at his 
window till there was a very faint suggestion of the 
coming day ; when, leaving his bed, he drew the cur- 
tain a little on one side, to see that the stars were grow- 
ing paler, and low down in the east a soft, pearly grey- 
ness in the sky just over the black-looking trees of the 
Park. 

It was cold at that early hour, and he shivered and 
crept back to bed, thinking that his mother in the apart- 
ments of the ladies of honour was no doubt sleeping 
peacefully, in utter ignorance of the terrible time of 
trouble to come ; and then once more he lay down to 
think, as others have in their time, how weak and help- 
less he was in his desires to avert the impending calamity. 

“ No wonder I can’t sleep,” he muttered ; and the 
next moment he slept. For nature is inexorable when 
the human frame needs rest, or men would not sleep 
peacefully in the full knowledge that it must be their 
last repose on earth. 

Five minutes after, his door was softly opened, a fig- 
ure glided through the gloom to his bedside, and bent 
over him, like a dimly seen shadow, to catch him by the 
shoulder. 

“ Frank ! Frank ! Here, quick ! Wake up !” 

The lad sprang back into wakefulness as suddenly as 
if a trigger had been touched, and all the drowsiness 
with which he was now charged had been let off. 

“ Yes ; what’s the matter ? Who’s there ?” 

“ Hush ! Don’t make a noise. Jump up, and dress.” 

“ Drew ?” 

“Yes. Be quick !” 


FRANK’S DREADFUL DAWN. 


hi 


“ But what’s the matter ?” 

“ I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and dressed, and 
opened my window to stand looking out at the stars, 
till just now I heard a door across the courtyard open, 
and three men in cloaks came out.” 

“ Officers’ patrol — going to visit the sentries.” 

“ No ; your father, Captain Murray, and some one 
else. I think it was the doctor ; he is short and stout.” 

“ Then father’s going to escape,” said Frank, in an 
excited whisper. 

” Escape ! Bah !” replied Andrew, in a tone full of 
disgust. “ How could he as a gentleman ? Can’t you 
see what it means ? They’re going to a meeting.” 

“ A meeting ?” faltered Frank. 

” Oh, how dull you are ! Yes, a meeting ; they’re 
going to fight !” 

Frank, who had leisurely obeyed his companion’s 
command to get up and dress, now began to hurry his 
clothes on rapidly, while Andrew went on : 

“ I don’t know how they’ve managed it, because your 
father was under arrest ; but I suppose the officers felt 
that there must be a meeting, and they have quietly ar- 
ranged it with the Germans. Of course it’s all on the 
sly. Make haste.” 

“ Yes. I shan’t be a minute. You have warned the 
guard of course ?” 

“ Done what ?” said Andrew. 

“ Given the alarm,” panted Frank. 

“ I say, are you mad, or are you still asleep ? What 
do you mean ?” 

“ Mad ! asleep ! Do you think I don’t know what 
I’m saying ?” 

“ I’m sure you don’t.” 

“ Do you think I want my father to be killed ?” 

“ Do you think your father wants to be branded as a 
coward ? Don’t be such a foolish schoolboy. You are 
among men now. I wish I hadn’t come and woke you. 
They’ll be getting it over too before I’m there.” 


1 1 2 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


He made a movement toward the door, but Frank 
seized him by the arm. 

“ No, no ; don’t go without me,” he whispered im- 
ploringly. 

“ Why not ? You’d better go to bed again. You’re 
just like a great girl.” 

“ I must go with you, Drew. I’m afraid I didn't 
hardly know what I was saying ; but it seems so cold- 
blooded to know that one’s own father is going to a 
fight that may mean death, and not interfere to stop it.” 

“ Interfere to stop it — may mean death ! I hope it 
does to some one, ’ ’ whispered Andrew fiercely. ‘ * There, 
let go ; I can’t stop any longer.” 

“ You’re not going without me. There, I’m ready 
now.” 

“ But I can’t take you to try and interfere. I thought 
you’d like me to tell you.” 

“ Yes, I do. I must come, and — and I won’t say or 
do anything that isn’t right.” 

“ I can’t trust you,” said Andrew hastily. “ It was a 
mistake to come and tell you. There, let go.” 

“You are not going without me!” cried Frank, 
fiercely now ; and he grasped his companion’s arm so 
firmly that the lad winced. 

“ Come on, then,” he said ; and, with his breath 
coming thick and short, Frank followed his companion 
downstairs and out of the door of the old house in the 
Palace precincts, into the long, low colonnade. 

They closed the door softly, and ran together across 
the courtyard in the dim light, but were challenged 
directly after by a sentry. 

” Hush ! Don’t stop us,” whispered Andrew. “ You 
know who we are — two of the royal pages.” 

“ Can’t pass,” said the man sternly. 

“ But we must,” said Frank, in an agonised whisper. 
” Here, take this.” 

“ Can’t pass,” said the man ; “ ’gainst orders. You 
must come to the guardroom.” 


FRANK’S DREADFUL DAWN. 


113 

But he t6ok the coin Frank handed to him, and 
slipped it into his pocket. 

“We want to go to the meeting — the fight,’’ whis- 
pered Andrew now. “ We won’t own that you let us 
go by.” 

“ Swear it,” said the man. 

“ Yes, of course. Honour of gentlemen.” 

“ Well, I dunno,” said the man. 

“ Yes, you do. Which way did they go when they 
passed the gate ?” 

“ Couldn’t see,” said the man ; “ too dark. I thought 
it was one of them games. My mate yonder ’ll know, 
only he won’t let you go by without the password.” 

“ Oh yes, he will,” said Andrew excitedly. “ Come 
on.” 

“ Mind, I never see you go by,” said the man. 

“ Of course you didn’t,” said Andrew ; “ and I can’t 
see you ; it’s too dark yet.” 

They set off running, and the next minute were at the 
gate opening on to the Park, where another sentry chal- 
lenged them. 

“ I’m Mr. Frank Gowan, Captain Sir Robert Gowan’s 
son, and this is Mr. Andrew Forbes, Prince’s page.” 

“ Yes, I know you, young gentlemen ; but where’s 
the password ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Andrew impatiently. 
“ Don’t stop us, or they’ll get it over before we’re there. 
Look here ; come to our rooms any time to-day, and ask 
for us. We’ll give you a guinea to let us go.” 

“ I dursn’t,” said the man, in a whisper. 

“ Which way did they go ?” said Frank, trembling 
now with anxiety. 

“ Strite acrost under the trees there. They’ve gone 
to the bit of a wood down by the water.” 

“ Yes ; that’s a retired spot,” panted Andrew. “ Here, 
let’s go on.” 

“ Can’t, sir, and I darn’t. It’s a jewel, aren’t it ?” 

“ Yes, a duel.” 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


114 

“ Well, I’m not going to be flogged or shot for the 
sake of a guinea, young gentlemen, and I won’t. But 
if you two makes a roosh by while I go into my sentry- 
box, it aren’t no fault o’ mine.” 

He turned from them, marched to his little upright 
box, and entered it, while before he could turn the two 
lads were dashing through the gate, and directly after 
were beneath the trees. 

It was rapidly growing lighter now ; but the boys saw 
nothing of the lovely pearly dawn and the soft wreaths 
of mist which floated over the water. The birds were 
beginning to chirp and whistle, and as they ran on 
blackbird after blackbird started from the low shrubs, 
uttering the chinking alarm note, and flew onward like 
a velvet streak on the soft morning glow. 

In a minute or so they had reached the water-side, 
and stopped to listen ; but they could hear nothing but 
the gabbling and quacking of the water-fowl. 

“Too late — too late !” groaned Frank. “ Which way 
shall we go ?’’ 

“ Left,’’ said Andrew shortly. “ Sure to go farther 
away.” 

They started again, running now on the grass, and as 
they went on step for step : 

“ Mayn’t have begun yet,” panted Andrew. “ Sure 
to take time preparing first. — There, hark !” 

For from beneath a clump of trees, a couple of hun- 
dred yards in front, there was an indistinct sound which 
might have meant anything. This the boys attributed 
to the grinding together of swords, and hurried on. 

Before they had gone twenty yards, though, it stopped ; 
and as all remained silent after they had gone on a short 
distance farther, the pair stopped, too, and listened. 

Going wrong,” said Frank despairingly. 

No. Right,” whispered Andrew, grasping his com- 
panion s arm ; for a low voice in amongst the trees gave 
what sounded like an order, and directly after there was 
a sharp click as of steel striking against steel, followed 


FRANK’S DREADFUL DAWN. 


ii5 

by a grating, grinding sound, as of blade passing over 
blade. 

Frank made a rush forward over the wet grass, disen- 
gaging his arm as he did so ; but Andrew bounded after 
him, and flung his arms about his shoulders. 

“ Stop !” he whispered. “ You’re not going on if 
you are going to interfere.” 

“ Let go !” said Frank, in a choking voice. “ I’m 
not going to interfere. I am going to try and act like a 
man.” 

“ Honour ?” 

“ Honour !” and once more they ran on, to reach the 
trees and thread their way through to where a couple of 
groups of gentlemen stood in a grassy opening, looking 
on while two others, stripped to shirt and breeches, 
were at thrust and parry, as if the world must be rid of 
one of them before they had done. 

As Frank saw that one was his fatner — slight, well- 
knit, and agile — and the other — heavy, massively built, 
and powerful — the Baron Steinberg, the desire was 
strong to rush between them ; but the power was want- 
ing, and he stood as if fixed to the spot, staring with 
starting eyes at the rapid exchanges made, for each was 
a good swordsman, well skilled in attack and defence, 
while the blades, as they grated edge to edge and played 
here and there, flashed in the morning light ; and as if 
in utter mockery of the scene, a bird uttered its sweet 
song to the coming day. 

There were moments when, as the German’s blade 
flashed dangerously near Sir Robert’s breast, Frank 
longed to close his eyes, but they were fixed, and with 
shuddering emotion he followed every movement, feel- 
ing a pang as a deadly thrust was delivered, drawing 
breath again as he saw it parried. 

For quite a minute the baron kept up a fierce attack 
in this, the second encounter since they had begun, but 
every thrust was turned aside, and at last, as if by one 
consent, the combatants drew back a step or two with 


n6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


their breasts heaving, and, without taking their eyes off 
each other, stood carefully re-rolling up their shirt 
sleeves over their white muscular arms. 

And now a low whispering went on among the offi- 
cers, German and English, who were present, and An- 
drew said softly in Frank’s ear : 

“ Don’t move — don’t make a sign. It might unsettle 
Sir Robert if he knew you were here.” 

Frank felt that this was true, and with his heart beat- 
ing as if it would break from his chest he stood watching 
his father, noting that his breathing was growing more 
easy, and that he was, though his face was wet with 
perspiration, less exhausted than his adversary, whose 
face appeared drawn with hate and rage as he glared at 
the English captain. 

Suddenly Captain Murray broke the silence by saying 
aloud to the German officers : 

‘‘We are of opinion, gentlemen, that only one more 
encounter, the third, should take place. This should 
decide.” 

“ Tell them not to interfere,” said Steinberg fiercely, 
but without taking his eyes off his adversary. Then in 
French, with a very peculiar accent, he cried, ‘‘ En 
garde /” and stepped forward to cross swords with Sir 
Robert once more. 

The latter advanced at the same moment, and the 
blades clicked and grated slightly, as their holders stood 
motionless, ready to attack or defend as the case 
might be. 

For nearly half a minute they stood motionless, eye 
fixed on eye, each ready to bring to bear his utmost 
skill, for, from the first the German had fought with a 
vindictive rage which plainly showed that he was deter- 
mined to disable, if he did not slay, his adversary ; 
while, enraged as he had been, there was, after some 
hours of sleep, no such desire on the part of Sir Rob- 
ert. He desired to wound his enemy, but that was all ; 
and as he at the first engagement realised the German’s 


FRANK’S DREADFUL DAWN. 


117 

intentions, he fought cautiously, confining himself prin- 
cipally to defence, save when he was driven, for his own 
safety, to retaliate. 

The seconds and those who had come as friends, at 
the expense of a breach of discipline and the conse- 
quences which might follow, had grasped this from the 
first ; and though he had great faith in his friend’s skill, 
Captain Murray had been longing for an opportunity to 
interfere and end the encounter. None had presented 
itself, and the German officers had so coldly refused to 
listen to any attempt at mediation that there was noth- 
ing for it but to let matters take their course. 

And now, as the adversaiies stood motionless with 
their blades crossed, Sir Robert’s friends felt to a man, 
as skilled fencers, that the time had arrived for him to 
take the initiative, press his adversary home, and end 
the duel by wounding him. 

But Sir Robert still stood on his guard, the feeling in 
his breast being — in spite of the terrible provocation he 
had received — that he had done wrong in striking his 
colonel’s guest, and he kept cool and clear-headed, re- 
solved not to attack. 

Then, all at once, by an almost imperceptible move- 
ment of the wrist, the baron made his sword blade play 
about his enemy’s, laying himself open to attack, to 
tempt his adversary to begin. 

Twice over he placed himself at so great a disadvan- 
tage that it would have been easy for Sir Robert to have 
delivered dangerous thrusts ; but the opportunities were 
declined, for the English captain’s mind was made up, 
and Frank heard an impatient word from Murray’s lips, 
while Andrew uttered a loud sigh. 

Then, quick as lightning, the baron resumed his old 
tactics, sending in thrust after thrust with all the skill 
he could command. His blade quivered and bent, and 
seemed to lick that of Sir Robert like a lambent tongue 
of fire ; and Frank felt ready to choke, as he, with An- 
drew, unable to control their excitement, crept nearer 


1 18 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


and nearer to the actors in the terrible life drama, till 
they were close behind Captain Murray and the other 
English officers, hearing their hard breathing and the 
short, sharp gasps they uttered as some fierce thrust was 
made which seemed to have gone home. 

But no : giving way very slightly, in spite of the fash- 
ion in which he was pressed by the German, Sir Robert 
turned every thrust aside ; and had he taken advantage 
of his opportunities, he could have again and again laid 
the baron at his feet, but not in the way he wished, for 
his desire now was to inflict such a wound as would 
merely place his enemy hors de combat. 

A murmur now arose amongst the Englishmen, for 
the affair was becoming murderous on one side. 
But the German officers looked on stolidly, each with 
his left hand resting upon the hilt of his sword, as if 
ready to resent any interference with the principals in a 
deadly way. 

There was no hope of combination there to end the 
encounter, and once more Captain Murray and his 
friends waited for Sir Robert to terminate the fight, as 
they now felt that he could at any time. 

For, enraged by the way in which he was being baffled 
by the superior skill of his adversary, the baron’s attack 
was growing wild as well as fierce ; and, savagely deter- 
mined to end all by a furious onslaught, he made a series 
of quick feints, letting his point play about Sir Robert’s 
breast, and then, quick as lightning, lunged with such 
terrible force that Frank uttered a faint cry. His father 
heard it, and though he parried that thrust, it was so 
nervously that he was partly off his guard with that 
which followed, the result being that a red line sudden- 
ly sprang into sight from just above his wrist, nearly to 
his elbow, and from which the blood began to flow. 

A cry of “ Halt !” came from Captain Murray and 
his friends, and this was answered by a guttural roar 
from the baron, while, as the former, as second, stepped 
forward to beat down the adversaries’ swords, the Ger- 


FRANK’S DREADFUL DAWN. 


119 

man officers at once drew their weapons, not to support 
the baron’s second, but as a menace. 

It was all almost momentary, and while it went on 
the baron, inspired by the sight of the blood, pressed 
forward, thrusting rapidly, feeling that the day was his 
own. 

But that strong British arm, though wounded, grasped 
the hilt of Sir Robert’s blade as rigidly as if it were of 
the same metal ; and as the baron lunged for what he 
intended for his final thrust, he thoroughly achieved his 
object, but not exactly as he meant. His sword point 
was within an inch of Sir Robert’s side, when a quick 
beat in octave sent it spinning from his hand, while at 
the same instant, and before the flying sword had 
reached the ground, Sir Robert’s blade had passed com- 
pletely through his adversary’s body. 

The German officers rushed forward, not to assist 
their fallen leader, but, sword in hand, evidently to 
avenge his fall, so taking the Englishmen by surprise 
that, save Sir Robert’s second, neither had time to draw. 

It would have gone hard with them, but, to the sur- 
prise of all, there was a short, sharp order, and an offi- 
cer and a dozen of the Guards dashed out of the clump 
of trees which sheltered the duellists, to arrest the whole 
party fgr brawling within the Palace precincts. 



CHAPTER XV. 


THE CONQUEROR 


HE German party blustered, but the officer in com- 



1 mand of the Guards had no hesitation in forcing 
them to submit. They threatened, but the fixed bayo- 
nets presented at their breasts, and the disposition 
shown by the sturdy Englishmen who bore them to use 
them on the instant that an order was given, ended in a 
surrender. 

As the baron fell, the feeling of horror which attacked 
Frank passed away, and, handkerchief in hand, he 
sprang to his father’s side, binding it tightly round the 
wound, and following it up by the application of a scarf 
from his neck. 

“ Ah, Frank lad,” said Sir Robert, as if it were quite 
a matter of course that his son should help him ; and he 
held up his arm, so that the wound could be bound 
while he spoke to Captain Murray. 

” It was an accident,” he said excitedly. “ I swear 
that I was only on my defence.” 

“We saw,” said the captain quietly. ” He regularly 
forced himself on your blade.” 

“ How is he, doctor ?” said Sir Robert excitedly. 

“ Bad, ” replied the surgeon, who was kneeling beside 
the fallen man, while his disarmed companions looked 
fiercely on. 

“ Don’t worry yourself about it, Gowan,” said one of 
Sir Robert’s brother-officers ; “ the brute fought like a 
savage, and tried his best to kill you.” 


THE CONQUEROR. 


I 2 I 


“I’d have given ten years of my life sooner than it 
should have happened. — That will do, boy.” 

“ Bad job, Gowan,” said the officer who had arrested 
them. “ The colonel was very wild as soon as he knew 
that you had broken arrest and come to this meeting, 
and it will go hard with you, Murray, and you others." 

“ Oh, we were spectators like the boys here,” said 
one of the officers. 

“ Yes, it’s a bad job,’’ said Captain Murray ; “ but a 
man must stand by his friend. Never mind, Gowan, 
old fellow ; if they cashier us, we must offer our swords 
elsewhere. I say,’’ he continued, turning to the cap- 
tain of the guard, “ you are not going to arrest these 
boys ?” 

“The two pages? No; absurd. They found out 
that there was an affair on, and came to see. Got over 
the wall, I suppose. I should have done the same. I 
can’t see them. Now, doctor, as soon as you say the 
word, my men shall carry our German friend on their 
muskets. How is he ?’’ 

“ As I said before — bad,” replied the surgeon sternly. 
“ Better send two men for a litter. He must be taken 
carefully.” 

“ Then I’ll leave two men with you while 1 take my 
prisoners to the guardhouse. Fall in, gentlemen, please. 
You boys get back to your quarters. Now, messieurs 
— meinherrs, I mean — you are my prisoners. Vorwarts ! 
March !” 

“Aren’t you faint, father?” whispered Frank, who 
took Sir Robert’s uninjured arm. 

“ Only sick, boy — heartsick more than anything. 
Frank, your mother must know, and if she waits she 
will get a garbled account. Go to her as soon as you 
get to the Palace, and tell her everything — the simple 
truth. I am not hurt much — only a flesh wound, which 
will soon heal.” 

“ And if she asks me why you fought, father,” whis- 
pered Frank, “ what am I to say ?” 


122 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


Sir Robert frowned heavily, and turned sharply to 
gaze in his son’s eyes. 

“Frank boy,” he said, “you are beginning trouble 
early ; but you must try and think and act like a man. 
When I go, your place is at your mother’s side.” 

“ When you go, father ?” 

“ Yes, I shall have to go, boy. Tell her I fought as a 
man should for the honour of those I love. Now say 
no more ; I am a bit faint, and I want to think.” 

The strange procession moved in toward the gates, 
the German officers talking angrily together, and pay- 
ing little heed to their fellow-prisoners, save that one of 
them darted a malignant glance at Sir Robert Gowan, 
which made Andrew turn upon him sharply with an 
angry scowl, looking the officer up and down so fiercely 
that he moved menacingly toward the lad ; but the 
Guardsman at his side raised his arm and stepped be- 
tween them. 

Just then the boys’ eyes met, and Frank, who was still 
supporting his father, gave his friend a grateful look. 

When the guardhouse was reached, it was just sun- 
rise, upon as lovely a morning as ever broke ; and it 
contrasted strangely with the aspect of the men who 
had been out for so sinister a design. 

F rank felt something of the kind as the door was opened 
to admit his father, one accustomed to command, and 
now ready to enter as a prisoner ; but he had very little 
time then for private thought, for the colonel suddenly 
appeared and without a glance at Sir Robert said 
sharply : 

“ Well ?” 

“Too late to stop it, sir,” reported the officer in com- 
mand. “ Captain Sir Robert Gowan wounded in the 
arm.” 

“ Baron Steinberg ?” 

“ The doctor is with him, sir. A litter is to be sent 
at once.” 

“ But — surely not ” 


THE CONQUEROR. 


123 


“ No, not dead, sir ; but run through the body.” 

“ Tut, tut, tut !” ejaculated the colonel ; and he 
turned now to Sir Robert with words of reproach on his 
lips, but the fixed look of pain and despair upon his offi- 
cer’s features disarmed him, and he signed to the pris- 
oner to enter. 

“ What shall I do now, father?” said Frank. “ Let 
me fetch another doctor.” 

” Nonsense, boy. Only a flesh wound. Go back to 
the Park at once ; I want to hear what news there 
is.” 

“ Of the baron, father ?” 

“ Yes ; make haste. I must know how he is.” 

Frank gave a quick, short nod, pressed his father’s 
hand, and hurried out, to find Andrew, whom he had 
forgotten for the moment, walking up and down in front 
of a knot of soldiers, looking as fretful as a trapped 
wolf in a cage. 

“ They wouldn’t let me come in,” he said impatiently. 

“ I only got in because I was supporting my father,” 
said Frank quickly. “ Come along ; I’m going to see 
how the baron is. Has the litter gone ?” 

“ No ; there are the men coming with it now.” 

The two lads set off running, Andrew’s ill humour pass- 
ing off in action, and he chatted quite cheerily as they 
made for the Park. 

“Your father was splendid, Frank !” he cried. “ I 
was proud of him. What a lesson for those haughty 
sausage-eaters !” 

“ But it is a terrible business, Drew.” 

“ Stuff ! only an affair of honour. Of course it may 
be serious for your father if the baron dies : but he 
won’t die. Some of his hot blood let out. Do him 
good, and let all these Hanoverians see what stuff the 
English have in them. Don’t you fidget. Why, every 
one in the Guards will be delighted. I know I am. 
Wouldn’t have missed that fight for anything.” 

“ You don’t ask how my father’s wound is.” 


124 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ No, and he would not want me to. Nasty, shallow 
cut, that’s all. Here we are.” 

They trotted into the opening where the greensward 
was all trampled and stamped by the combatants' feet, 
and found the doctor kneeling by his patient just as they 
had left him, and the two Grenadiers with grounded 
arms standing with their hands resting on the muzzles 
of their pieces. 

“ Hallo ! young men,” cried the doctor, rising and 
stepping to them. “ Is that litter going to be all day ?” 

“ They’re bringing it, sir,” said Frank ; “we ran on 
first. How is he now ?” 

Frank looked at the white face before him with its 
contracted features and ghastly aspect about the pinched- 
in lips. 

“ About as bad as he can be, my lad. A man can’t 
have a sharp piece of steel run through his chest with- 
out feeling a bit uncomfortable. Lesson for you, my 
boys. You see what duelling really is. You’ll neither 
of you quarrel and go out after this.” 

“ Why not ?” said Andrew sharply. “ I should, and 
so would Frank Gowan, if we were insulted by a for- 
eigner.” 

“ Bah !” cried the doctor testily. “ Nice language 
for a boy like you.” 

” Please tell me, sir,” said Frank anxiously. “ Will 
he get better ?” 

“ Why do you want to know, you young dog ?” said 
the doctor, turning upon him sharply. “ No business 
here at all, either of you.” 

“ My father is so anxious to know. I want to run 
back and tell him.” 

“ Oh, that’s it !” said the doctor gruffly “ No busi- 
ness to have broken out to fight ; but I suppose I must 
tell him. Go back and say that the baron has got a 
hole in his chest and another in his back, and his life is 
trying to slip out of one of them ; but I’ve got them 
stopped, and that before his life managed to pop out. 


THE CONQUEROR. 


125 


Lucky for him that I was here ; and I’m very glad, tell 
your father, that it has turned out as it has, for I stood 
all through the ugly business, expecting every moment 
that he would go down wounded to the death.” 

“ Yes, I’ll tell him,” said Frank hurriedly. 

“ Don’t rush off like that, boy. How should you like 
to be a surgeon ?” 

“ Not at all, sir.” 

“ And quite right,” said the doctor, taking out his 
box, and helping himself to a liberal pinch of snuff. 
“ Nice job for a man like me to have to do all I can to 
save the life of a savage who did all he could to murder 
one of my greatest friends. There, run back and tell 
him to make his mind easy about my lord here. I 
won’t let him die, and as soon as I can I’ll come and 
see to his arm.” 

The boys ran off again, passing the litter directly ; but 
when they reached the guardhouse, the sentry refused 
to let them pass, and summoned another of the Guards, 
who took in a message to the captain who made the arrest. 

He came to the door directly, and learned what they 
wanted. 

” I can’t admit you,” he said. ” The colonel’s orders 
have been very strict. I’ll go and set your father’s 
mind at rest, for of course he’ll be glad that he did not 
kill his adversary.” 

The captain nodded in a friendly way, and went back. 

“ He can’t help himself, Frank,” said Andrew. 
” Don’t mind about it. And there won’t be any pun- 
ishment. The King and the Prince will storm and shout 
a bit in Dutch, and then it will all blow over. Your 
father’s too great a favourite with the troops for there 
to be any bother, and the bigwigs know how pleased 
every one will be that the Dutchman got the worst of it. 
I say, look ; it’s only half-past five now !” 

“ What : not later than that !” cried Frank in aston- 
ishment, for he would have been less surprised if he had 
heard that it was midday. 


126 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Here they come,” whispered Andrew ; and, turn- 
ing quickly, Frank saw the soldiers bearing in the 
wounded baron, with the doctor by his side, and they 
waited till they saw the litter borne in to the guard- 
room, and the door was shut. 

“ I say, who would have thought of this when we 
were going over to the messroom yesterday evening ? 
What shall we do now — go back to bed ?” 

“ To bed !” said Frank reproachfully. “ No. I have 
the worst to come.” 

“ What, are you going to challenge one of the Ger- 
mans ? I’ll second you.” 

“ Don’t be so flippant. There, good-bye for the pres- 
ent.” 

“ Good-bye be hanged ! You’re in trouble, and I’ in- 
going to stick to you like a man.” 

“ Yes, I know you will, Drew ; but let me go alone 
now.” 

‘‘What for? Where are you going ? You’re not 
going to be so stupid as to begin petitioning, and all 
that sort of nonsense, to get your father off ?” 

“ No,” said Frank, with his lower lip quivering ; 
“ he’ll fight his own battle. I’ve got a message from 
him for my mother, and I have to break the news to 
her.” 

Andrew Forbes uttered a low, soft whistle, and nod- 
ded his head. 

“ Before she gets some muddled story, not half true. 
I say, tell her not to be frightened and upset. Sir Rob- 
ert shan’t come to harm. Why, we could raise all Lon- 
don if they were to be queer to him. But take my word 
for it, they won’t be.” 

Frank hardly heard his last words, for they were now 
in the calm, retired quadrangle of the Palace, one side 
of which was devoted to the apartments of the ladies in 
attendance upon the Queen and Princess, and the lad 
went straight to the door leading to his mother’s rooms, 
and rang. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


FRANK HAS A PAINFUL TASK. 

F OR the moment Frank Gowan forgot that it was 
only half-past five, and after waiting a reasonable 
time he rang again. 

But all was still in the court, which lay in the shade, 
while the great red-brick clock tower was beginning to 
glow in the sunshine. There were some pigeons on one 
of the roofs preening their plumes, and a few sparrows 
chirping here and there, while every window visible 
from where the boy stood was whitened by the drawn- 
down blinds. 

He rang again and waited, but all was as silent as if 
the place were uninhabited, and the whistling of wings 
as half a dozen pigeons suddenly flew down to begin 
stalking about as if in search of food sounded startling. 

“ Too soon,” thought Frank ; and going a little way 
along, he seated himself upon a dumpy stone post, to 
wait patiently till such time as the Palace servants were 
astir. * 

And there in the silence his thoughts went back to his 
adventures that morning, and the scene, which seemed 
to have been enacted days and days ago, came vividly 
before his eyes, while he thrilled once more with the 
feeling of mingled horror and excitement, as he seemed 
to stand again close behind Captain Murray, expecting 
moment by moment to see his father succumb to the 
German’s savage attack. 

There it all was, as clear as if it were still going on, 


128 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


right to the moment when the baron missed his desper- 
ate thrust and literally fell upon his adversary’s point. 

“It was horrid, horrid, horrid,’’ muttered the lad 
with a shiver ; and he tried to divert his mind by think- 
ing of how he should relate just a sufficiency of the en- 
counter to his mother, and no more. 

“ Yes,’’ he said to himself. “I’ll just tell her that 
they fought, that father was scratched by the baron’s 
sword, and then the baron was badly wounded in re- 
turn. 

“That will do,’’ he said, feeling perfectly satisfied ; 
“ I’ll tell her just in this way.’’ 

But as he came to this determination doubt began to 
creep in and ask him whether he could relate the trouble 
so coolly and easily when his mother’s clear eyes were 
watching him closely and searching for every scrap of 
truth ; and then he began to think it possible that he 
might fail, and stand before her feeling guilty of keep- 
ing a great deal back. 

“ I know I shall grow confused, and that she will not 
believe that poor father’s arm was ojily scratched, and 
she’ll think at once that it is a serious wound, and that 
the baron is dead.’’ 

He turned so hot at this that he rose quickly, and 
walked along all four sides of the quadrangle to cool 
himself before going to the door once more and giving 
a sharp ring. % 

“ Are the servants going to lie in bed all day ?” he 
said peevishly. “ They ought to be down before this.’’ 

But the ring meeting with no response, he sat down 
again to try and think out what the consequences of the 
events of the morning would be. Here, however, he 
found himself confronted by a thick, black veil, which 
shut out the future. It was easy enough to read the 
past, but to imagine what was to come was beyond him. 

At last, when quite an hour had passed, he grew im- 
patient, and rang sharply this time, to hear a window 
opened somewhere at the top of the house ; and when 


FRANK HAS A PAINFUL TASK. 


129 


he looked up, it was to see a head thrust forth and 
rapidly withdrawn. 

Five minutes or so afterward he heard the shooting of 
bolts and the rattling down of a chain, the door was 
opened, and a pretty-looking maidservant, with sleep 
still in her eyes, confronted him ill-humouredly. 

“ How late you are !” cried Frank. 

“ No, sir ; please, it’s you who are so early. We 
didn’t go to bed till past one.” 

“ Is Lady Gowan up yet ?” 

“ Lor’ bless you, sir, no ! Why— oh, I beg your par- 
don, I’m sure, sir. I didn’t know you at first ; it’s her 
ladyship’s son, isn’t it ?” 

” Yes, of course. I want to see her directly.” 

“ But you can’t, sir. She won’t be down this two 
hours.” 

“ Go and tell my mother I am here, and that I want 
to see her on important business.” 

“ Very well, sir ; but I know I shall get into trouble 
for disturbing her,” said the maid ill-humouredly. 
“ She was with the. Princess till ever so late.” 

The girl went upstairs, leaving Frank waiting in 'the 
narrow passage of the place, and at the end of a few 
minutes she returned. 

“ Her ladyship says, sir, you are to come into her lit- 
tle boudoir and wait ; she’ll dress, and come down in a 
few minutes.” 

Frank followed the maid to the little room, and stood 
waiting, for he could not sit down in his anxiety. He 
felt hot and cold, and as if he would have given any- 
thing to have hurried away, but there was nothing for 
it but to screw up his courage and face the matter. 

“ She’ll be half an hour yet,” he muttered, “ and that 
will give me time to grow cool ; then I can talk to her.” 

He was wrong ; for at the end of five minutes there 
was the rustling of garments, and Lady Gowan entered, 
in a loose morning gown, looking startled at being woke 
up by such a message. 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


130 

“ Why, Frank, my darling boy, what is it ?” she cried, 
as the boy shrank from her eyes when she embraced him 
affectionately. “ You are ill ! No ; in trouble ! I can 
see it in your eyes. Look up at me, my boy, and be in 
nature what you are by name. You were right to come 
to me. There, sit down by my side, and let it be always 
so — boy or man, let me always be your confidante , and I 
will forgive you and advise you if I can.” 

Frank was silent, but he clung to her trembling. 

“Speak to me, dear,” she said, drawing him to her 
and kissing his forehead; “ it cannot be anything very 
dreadful — only some escapade.” 

His lips parted, but no words would come, and he 
shivered at the thought of undeceiving her. 

“ Come, come, dear,” she whispered, “ there is no one 
to hear you but I ; and am I not your mother ?” 

“Yes, but ” 

That was all. He could say no more. 

“ Frank, my boy, why do you hesitate ?” she whis- 
pered, as she passed her soft, warm hand over his fore- 
head, which was wet and cold. “ Come, speak out like 
a brave lad. A boy of your age should be manly, and 
if he has done wrong own to it, and be ready to bear 
the reproof or punishment he has earned. Come, let 
me help you.” 

“ You help me ?” he gasped. 

“ Yes, I think I can. You dined at the mess last 
night ; your face is flushed and feverish, your head is 
hot, and your hands wet and cold. Phoebe tells me 
that in her sleep she heard you ringing at the bell soon 
after five. Is this so ?” 

“Yes,” he said with his eyes and a quick nod of the 
head. 

“ Hah ! And am I right in saying that you have had 
scarcely any or no sleep during the night ?” 

He nodded again quickly, and felt as if it would be 
impossible to try and set his mother right. 

“ Hah ! I am angry with you. I feel that I ought to 


FRANK HAS A PAINFUL TASK. 


13 1 

be. There has been some escapade. Your father would 
have watched over you while he was there. It must 
have been afterwards — Andrew Forbes and some of the 
wild young officers. Yes, I see it now ; and I never 
warned you against such a peril, though it is real 
enough, I fear.” 

“ Oh, mother, mother !” groaned the boy in agony. 

“I knew it,” she said sternly; “ they have led you 
away to some card- or dice-playing, and you have lost. 
Now you are fully awake to your folly.” 

The boy made a brave effort to speak out, but still no 
words would come. 

“Well,” said Lady Gowan, taking his hand to hold 
it firmly between her own. 

But he was still silent. 

“ I am angry, and cruelly disappointed in you, 
Frank/ ’ she said sternly. “ But your repentance has 
been quick, and you have done what is right. There, I 
will forgive you, on your solemn promise that you will 
not again sin like this. I will give you the money to 
pay the miserable debt, and if I have not enough I will 
get it, even if I have to sell my diamonds.” 

She looked at him as if expecting now a burst of re- 
pentant thanks ; but he remained speechless, and a feel- 
ing of resentment against him rose in Lady Gowan’s 
breast, as she felt that this was not the return the boy 
should have made to her gentle reproof, her offer to free 
hitn from his difficulty, and her eyes flashed upon him 
angrily. 

“ Oh, mother !” he cried, “ don’t look at me like 
that.” 

“I must, Frank,” she said, loosing his hand, “ you 
are not meeting me in this matter as you should.” 

“ No, no,” he cried, finding his tongue now, and 
catching her hands in his, as he sank on his knees be^ 
fore her. “ Don’t shrink from me, though it does seem 
so cruel of me.” 

“ More cruel, my boy, than you think,” she said, as 


i3 2 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


she resigned her hands to him lovingly once more. 
“ Speak out to me, then. It is what I fear ?” 

“ Oh no, no, mother darling,” he groaned. “ I must 
speak now. It is far worse than that.” 

“ Worse !” she cried, with a startled look in her eyes. 
“ Some quarrel ?” 

He bowed his head, partly in assent, partly to escape 
her piercing look. 

“ And you are no longer a schoolboy — you wear a 
sword. Oh, Frank, Frank ! you — Andrew Forbes.” 

He shook his head and bowed it down. Then he 
raised it firmly and proudly, and met his mother’s eyes 
gazing wildly at him now, as she tried to release her 
hands, but as he held them tightly pressed them with her 
own against her throbbing breast. 

“ He told me to come to you as a man and break the 
news. ” 

“ He — your father — told you — to break the news. 
Ah, I see it all. A quarrel — and they have fought — but 
he bade you come. Then he lives.” 

‘‘Yes, yes, mother dear. He is wounded, but very 
slightly in the arm.” 

Lady Gowan uttered a low, piteous cry, and sank 
upon her knees beside her son, with her lips moving 
quickly for some moments, as he supported her where 
they knelt together. 

‘‘ Wounded — dangerously ?” she moaned. 

“ No, no ; believe me, mother, slightly in his sword 
arm. He walked back with me.” 

“ To his quarters ?” 

‘‘No. He was arrested.” 

“ Ah !” ejaculated Lady Gowan. “ Arrested — why ?” 

Frank hastily explained. 

“ Oh the horror of these meetings ! But this man, 
your father struck him ? But why ?” 

Frank repeated his father’s message, and Lady Gowan 
looked bewildered. 

“ I cannot understand,” she said. “ These German 


FRANK HAS A PAINFUL TASK. 


i33 


officers are favourites of the King, and the baron must 
have cruelly insulted your father, or he, who is so brave 
and strong and gentle, would never have done this. 
They are proud and overbearing, and I know treat our 
English officers with contempt. Yes, it must have been 
from that. When was it ?” 

“ At daybreak.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ Just yonder in the Park.” 

“ And your father took you ?” said Lady Gowan, 
with a look of horror. 

“ No, no, mother ; he did not know I was there till it 
was just over, and he told me how it was.” 

“ Yes, I see.” 

“ I was horrified and frightened when Drew came and 
told me. I could not keep away.” 

“ No,” she said softly, “ of course not. I should have 
gone myself had I known. But your good, brave father 
wounded, and the man who insulted him escaped un- 
hurt !” 

“ No, no, mother ; he is ” 

” Frank ! Not dead ?” she cried in horror, for the 
boy stopped. 

“ No, no ; but very dangerously wounded. The sol- 
diers carried him back on a litter, but the doctor says 
that he will live.” 

Once more, while she knelt there, Lady Gowan’s lips 
moved as her eyes closed, and she bent down her head 
above her son’s shoulder. 

At last she raised it, and said, firmly : 

“ We must be brave over this terrible misfortune, 
Frank dear. But tell me ; do I know the worst ?” 

“ Yes, yes, mother ; I meant to keep a great deal 
back, and I can’t look in your eyes, and say anything 
that is not perfectly true.” 

‘‘And never will, my son,” sbe cried, vvith a wildly 
hysterical burst of tears, which she checked in a few 
moments. “ There, your mother is very weak, you see, 


134 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


dear ; but I am going to be strong now. Then that ex- 
plains the sternness of the arrest. Let us look the mat- 
ter in the face. Your father struck this German noble- 
man, the guest of the regiment. They fought this 
morning, and the cause of the trouble is badly hurt. 
The King and the Prince will be furious. They will 
look upon it as a mutinous attack upon one of their 
favourites. Yes, I must see the Princess at once. I 
will go to her chamber now ; so leave me, my boy, and 
wait. I will write to you, and I must try and get a note 
to your 'father. There, go, my own brave boy, and be 
comforted. The trouble may not be so great after all, 
for we have a friend who loves us both — the Princess, 
and she will help me in my sore distress. There, go, 
my boy ; she must have the news from me, as your 
father contrived that it should come to me. I can go to 
her chamber at any time, for she has told me again and 
again that she looks upon me as her dearest friend.” 

The next minute Frank was crossing the quadrangle 
on his way back, feeling relieved of much of his bur- 
den ; but before he reached the quarters occupied by 
the royal pages, Andrew Forbes stood before him. 

“At last !” he said. “I’ve been waiting here ever 
since. How does she take it ?” 

“ Bravely,” said Frank, with a proud look. “ She 
has just gone in to tell the Princess.” 

“ And she will get Sir Robert out of the scrape if she 
can. But it won’t do, Fiank,” said Andrew, shaking 
his head. “ She’ll be very kind to your mother, but 
you may as well know the worst. She can’t ; for his 
Majesty will have something to say about his baron. 
Your father might as well have hit the King himself.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE KING S DECREE. 


A 


NY fresh news ?” 

“ No. Have you any ?” 


“ Not much ; but I’ve seen the doctor again this 
morning.” 

‘‘You told me yesterday that he said you were not to 
dare to come to him any more.” 

“ Yesterday i Why, that was four days ago.” 

“ Nonsense ! That would have been before the duel.” 

“ I say, Frank, are you going out of your mind ?” 

‘‘I don’t know,” said the boy wearily. ‘‘ My head’s 
muddled with want of sleep.” 

“ Muddled ? I should think it is. Why, it’s a week 
to-day since that glorious fight in the Park.” 

” Glorious ?” 

“ Yes. I wish our officers would challenge all the 
German officers, fight them, and wound them, and send 
them out of the country.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense. Talk about the doctor. He 
did tell you not to come any more.” 

4 ‘ Yes ; he said he wouldn’t be bothered by a pack of 
boys.” 

“ Yes ; he said the same to me every time I went.” 

“ Every time ! Have you been there much ?” 

“ About four times a day.” 

“ No wonder he was snappish to me, then.” 

“ I suppose it has been tiresome, and he has called me 
all sorts of names, and said I worried his life out ; but 
he always ended by smiling and shaking hands.” 


136 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ You haven’t been this morning of course ?” 

“ Yes, I have.” 

“ Well ?” 

“ He says father’s arm is going on well ; but the 
baron is very bad.” 

” Serve him right.” 

” But I want him to get well.” 

“ Oh, he’ll get well some day. He’s such a big, thick 
fellow, that it’s a long wound from front to back, and 
takes time. Be a lesson to him. I say, how’s Lady 
Gowan ?” 

” Very miserable and low-spirited.” 

” Humph !” ejaculated Andrew ; and he glanced in a 
curious, furtive way at his companion. ” I say, I 
thought the Princess was to speak to the King, and get 
your father pardoned.” 

” She did speak to him, and the Prince has too.” 

“ Well ?” 

” We don’t know any more yet. I suppose my'father 
is kept under arrest so as to punish him.” 

” Yes,” said Andrew, with a strange hesitation, which 
took Frank’s attention. 

“Why did you say * yes ’ like that?” he cried, with 
his dull, listless manner passing off, and a keen, eager 
look in his eyes. 

“ Did I say ‘ yes ’ like that p 4 ” 

“ You know you did. What is it you are keeping 
back, Drew ?” 

“I say, don’t talk like that,” said Andrew petu- 
lantly. ” I never saw such a fellow as you are. Here, 
only the other day you looked up to me in every- 
thing, and I tried to teach you how to behave like a 
young man of the world in courtly society.” 

“Yes, you did, and I am greatly obliged ; but ” 

“ Seems like it,” said Andrew sharply. “ Then all at 
once you set up your hackles, and show fight like a young 
cockerel, and begin bouncing over me — I mean trying 
to ; and it won’t do, young Gowan. I’m your senior.” 


THE KING’S DECREE. 


i37 


“ Yes, yes, I know,” cried Frank angrily ; “ but this 
is all talk, just for the sake of saying something to put 
me off. Now speak out ; what is it you’re keeping 
back?” 

“ There you go again, bully Go wan ! Here, I say, 
you know I’m not going to stand this. You keep your 
place.” 

“ Don’t, don’t, Drew, when I’m in such trouble I” 
cried Frank appealingly. 

“ Ah ! that’s better. Now you’ve dropped into your 
place again, boy.” 

“ You have something fresh — some great trouble — 
and you are hiding it from me.” 

“ Well, how can I help it ?” said Andrew. “ You’re 
bad enough as it is, and I don’t want to make matters 
worse.” 

But that’s what you are doing. Why don’t you 
speak ?’ ’ 

“ Because you’ll go and tell dear Lady Gowan, and it 
will half kill her.” 

“ What !” cried Frank, springing at his companion, 
and catching him by the shoulder. 

” And I look upon her as if she was my mother as 
well as yours, and I’d cut off my hand sooner than hurt 
her feelings more.” 

“ I knew there was something fresh,” cried Frank ex- 
citedly ; “ and, whatever it is, I must tell her, Drew. I 
promised her that I’d be quite open, and keep nothing 
from her.” 

” There, I knew I was right. How can I help keeping 
it back ? And don’t, Frank, lad. I say, how strong 
you are. You’re ragging my collar about. I shan’t be 
fit to be seen.” 

“ Then why don’t you speak ? It’s cruel, horrible,” 
cried Frank hoarsely. 

“ Because it comes so hard, old lad. I feel just as 
you told me you felt when you had to go and tell Lady 
Gowan that morning.” 


>38 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Yes, yes, I know ; but do — do speak ! You’ve tor- 
tured me enough.” 

“ I’ve just seen Captain Murray.” 

“Ah !” 

“ He was coming out of the colonel’s quarters.” 

“ Well ? Be quick — oh, do be quick !” 

“ I ran to him, and he took me into his room and told 
me.” 

“ Yes — told you — what ?” 

* “ He said he was very sorry for you and Lady Gowan, 
but the King was as hard as a rock. The Prince had 
been at him, and the Princess too ; but he would hardly 

listen to them, and the most he would do was It 

seems that Steinberg is a very old favourite.” 

“ Oh, I knew all that long ago ! Why do you break 
off in that tantalising way ?” 

“ There is to be no regular court-martial, such as was 
to have been as soon as the doctor said Sir Robert could 
bear it.” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

“ Oh, it’s no, no, Frank. He’s to be dismissed from 
his regiment.” 

“ I was afraid so,” cried Frank. “ But to exchange 
into another. What regiment is he to go in ?” 

Andrew was silent. 

“ Well, go on ! Why don’t you speak ?” cried Frank 
wildly. “ I asked you what regiment he was to 
go in.” 

“ No regiment at all. He’s dismissed from the King’s 
service, and he is to leave the country. If he comes 
back, he is to be severely punished.” 

“ Oh, they could not punish him more severely,” 
cried Frank, with an angry stamp of the foot. 

“Yes, they could. His Majesty” — Andrew Forbes 
said the two last words with bitter irony in his tones — 
“ might order his execution.” 

“ Then we are all to go away,” said Frank, frown- 
ing. 


THE KING’S DECREE. 


i39 


“ I don’t know about that,” replied Andrew. *‘ But 
it’s a good thing for your father. ’ r 

“ What ! A good thing ?” 

“ Yes ; to get out of the service of such a miserable 
usurper. If it were not for the terrible upset to Lady 
Gowan, I should be ready to congratulate her.” 

” That will do,” said Frank sharply. ” Don’t get in- 
troducing your principles here.” 

“ Our principles,” whispered Andrew, with a mean- 
ing look. 

” Your principles,” continued Frank, with emphasis. 
“ I’m in no temper for that, and I don’t want to quarrel. 
I must go and tell he,r as soon as I’m off duty. She’ll 
be ready to hate the sight of me for always bringing her 
bad news.” 

But before the boy was relieved from his daily duties 
in the anteroom, a note was brought to him from Lady 
Gowan confirming Andrew’s words. In fact, Frank’s 
mother had known the worst over night. But there was 
other news in the letter which told the lad that his 
father was to leave London that evening, that he was to 
accompany his mother to see him for a farewell inter- 
view, and that she wished him to be ready to go with 
her at seven o’clock. 

Frank read the letter twice, and felt puzzled. He 
read it again, and sought out his friend. 

“ Been to see Lady Gowan ?” Andrew asked. 

“ No ; read this.” 

The lad took the letter, shrugged his shoulders as he 
read it, and handed it back. 

‘‘ That’s plain enough,” he said bitterly. 

” Do you think so ? I don’t. I can’t make out the 
end.” 

” You are to call for Lady Gowan, and take her to Sir 
Robert’s quarters.” 

“ No, no, I mean about a farewell visit.” 

“ Well, isn’t that plain ?” 

“ But we shall go too.” 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


140 

“ I don’t think so. Your mother is the Princess’s 
friend, and .she does not wish to lose her. You will 
both have to stay.” 

“ Impossible !” cried Frank excitedly. 

“ Well, we shall see,” said Andrew meaningly. 

That evening Frank took his mother, closely veiled, 
to Sir Robert’s quarters, where he had been ever since 
the duel, with a sentry beneath his window, and another 
stationed at his door. 

The pass Lady Gowan bore admitted them at once, 
and the next minute they were in Sir Robert’s room, to 
find him looking pale and stern, busily finishing with 
his servant the preparations for an immediate start. 

The man was dismissed, and father, mother, and son 
were alone. 

Lady Gowan was the first to speak. 

“ You know the orders that have been given, Rob- 
ert ?” she said. 

“ Yes ; I travel with a strong escort to Harwich, 
where I am to take ship and cross.” 

“ Of course we are going with you, Robert,” said 
Lady Gowan. 

Sir Robert was silent for a few moments, and Frank 
stood watching him anxiously, eager to hear his reply. 

“ No,” he said at last. ” I am driven out of the coun- 
try, and it would not be right to take you with me 
now.” 

# 

“ Robert !” cried Lady Gowan. 

“ Hush !” he said appealingly. “ I have much to 
bear now ; don’t add to my burden. At present I have 
no plans. I do not even know where I shall direct my 
steps. I am to be shipped off to Ostend. It would be 
madness to take you from here yet. The Princess is 
your friend, and I understand that the Prince is well- 
disposed toward me. You must stay here for the pres- 
ent.” 

“ But I am sure that her Royal Highness will wish 
me to leave her service now.” 


THE KING’S DECREE. 


14 


“ And I am not,” said Sir Robert. “ For the present 
I wish you to stay.” 

Lady Gowan bent down and kissed his hand in obedi- 
ence to her husband’s wishes. 

“But you will take me with you, father?” cried 
Frank. 

“ You, my boy ? No. You cannot leave your moth- 
er. She and I both look to you to fill my place till the 
happier days come, when I can return to England. You 
hear me, Frank ?” 

A protest was on the lad’s lips ; but there was a stern 
decision in Sir Robert’s eyes and tones which silenced 
it, and with quivering lip he stood listening to his 
father’s instructions, till there was a tap at the door, 
and an officer appeared to announce that the visitors 
must leave. 

“ Very well,” said Sir Robert quietly, and the officer 
withdrew. 

“ Oh, father !” cried Frank, “ let me go and ask for 
another hour.” 

“ No, my boy,” said Sir Robert, firmly. “ It is bet- 
ter so. Why should we try to prolong pain ? Good- 
bye, Frank, till we meet again. You must be a man now, 
young as you are. I leave your mother in your care. 

His farewell to Lady Gowan was very brief, and then 
at his wish she tore herself away, and with her veil 
drawn down to hide her emotion, she hurried out, rest- 
ing on Frank’s arm ; while he, in spite of his father’s 
recent words, was half choked as he felt how his mother 
was sobbing. 

“ Don’t speak to me, dear,” she whispered, as they 
reached her apartments. “ I cannot bear it. I feel as 
if we were forsaking your father in the time of his great- 
est need.” 

It was painful to leave her suffering ; but there was a 
feeling of desire urging the lad away, and he hurried 
out, finding Andrew faithfully waiting at the door, and 
ready to press his hand in sympathy. 


142 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ It's terribly hard, lad,” he said. “ Oh, dear ; what 
a wicked world it is ! But you are coming to see him 
go ?” 

Frank nodded — he could not trust himself to speak — 
and they started back for Sir Robert’s quarters. 

They were none too soon ; for already a couple of 
coaches were at the door, and a military guard was 
drawn up, keeping back a little crowd, the wind of the 
approaching departure having got abroad. 

The lads noticed that fully half were soldiers ; but 
they had little time for making observations, for already 
Sir Robert was at the door, and the next minute he had 
stepped into the first coach, the second, standing back, 
being filled with guards, one being beside the coachman 
on the box, and two others standing behind. An officer 
and two soldiers followed Sir Robert. The door was 
banged to as Frank and Andrew dashed forward, and 
forced their way past the sentries who kept back the 
crowd. 

It required little effort, for as soon as the Guards 
recognised them they gave place, and enabled them to 
run beside the coach fora little way, waving their hands 
to the banished man. 

Sir Robert saw them, and leaned forward, and his face 
appeared at the window, when, as if influenced by one 
spirit, the soldiers uttered a tremendous cheer, the rest 
joined in, and the next minute the boys stood panting 
outside in front of the clock tower, with the carriages 
disappearing on their way east. 

“ Oh, Frank, Frank !” cried Andrew excitedly, ” is 
this free England ? If we had only known — if we had 
only known.” 

Frank’s heart was too full for speech, and, hardly 
heeding his companion’s words, he stood gazing after 
the two coaches, feeling lower in spirits than he ever 
had before in his life. 

‘‘We ought to have known that the soldiers and the 
people were all upon his side. A little brave effort, with 


THE KING’S DECREE. 


M3 


some one to lead them, and we could have rescued him. 
The men would have carried everything before them.” 

” Rather curious expressions of opinion for one of the 
royal pages, young gentleman,” said a stern voice. 

” Captain Murray !” cried Andrew, who was thor- 
oughly startled to find his words taken up so promptly 
by some one behind him. 

“ Yes, my lad, Captain Murray. I am glad, Gowan, 
that such words did not fall from you, though in your 
case they would have been more excusable.” 

“ Perhaps, sir,” cried Frank, in his loyalty to his 
friend, though truthfully enough, “ it was because I 
could not speak. I wish I had helped to do it, though.” 

“ Hah ! Yes, brave and manly, but weak and foolish, 
my boy. Recollect what and where you are, and that 
whispers spoken in the precincts of the Palace often have 
echoes which magnify them and cause those who uttered 
them much harm.” 

“ I’m not sorry I spoke,” said Andrew hotly. “ It 
has been horribly unjust to Sir Robert Gowan.” 

” Suppose we discuss that shut in between four walls 
which have no ears, my lad. But let me ask you this, 
my hot-blooded young friend — suppose you had roused 
the soldiers into rising and rescuing Sir Robert Gowan, 
what then ?” 

“ It would have been a very gallant thing, sir,” said 
Andrew haughtily. 

“ Of course, very brave and dashing, but a recklessly 
impulsive act. What would have followed ?” 

Captain Murray turned from Andrew to Frank, and 
the latter saw by the dim lamplight that the words were 
addressed more particularly to him. 

“ We should have set him free.” 

“ No. You might have rescued him from his guards ; 
but he would have been no more free than he is now. 
He could not have stayed in England, but would have 
had to make for the coast, and escape to France or Hol- 
land in some smuggler’s boat. You see he would have 


144 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


been just where he is now. But it is more probable 
that you would not have secured him, for the guard 
would at the first attempt have been called upon to fire, 
and many lives would have been sacrificed for nothing.” 

“ I thought you were Sir Robert Go wan’s friend, sir,” 
said Andrew bitterly. 

“ So I am, boy ; but I am the King’s servant, sworn 
to obey and defend him. His Majesty’s commands were 
that Sir Robert should leave his service, and seek a 
home out of England. It is our duty to obey. And 
now listen to me, Mr. Andrew Forbes, and you too, 
Frank Gowan ; and if I speak sternly, remember it is 
from a desire to advise my old comrade’s son and his 
companion for the best. A still tongue maketh a wise 
head. But I am not going to preach at you ; and it is 
better that you should take it to heart — you in particu- 
lar, Andrew Forbes, for you occupy a peculiar position 
here. Your father is a proscribed rebel.” 

“ You dare to say that of my father !” cried the lad, 
laying his hand upon his sword. 

“ Yes, you foolish lad. Let that hilt alone. Keep 
your sword for your enemies, not for your friends, even 
if they tell you unpleasant truths. Your tongue, my 
lad, runs too freely, and will get you sooner or later 
into trouble. Men have been punished for much less 
than you have said, even to losing their lives.” 

“ Is this what a King’s officer should do ?” cried An- 
drew, who was white with anger, — “ play the part of a 
spy?” 

“ Silly, hot-headed boy,” said Captain Murray. “ I 
saw you both, and came up to speak to my old friend’s 
son, when I could not help hearing what your enemies 
would call traitorous remarks. Frank, my lad, you are 
the younger in years, but you have the older head, and 
you must not be led away by this hot-blooded fellow. 
There, come both of you to my quarters.” 

“ Frank, I’m going to my room,” said Andrew, ignor- 
ing the captain’s words. 


THE KING’S DECREE. 


i45 


“ No, you are coming with us,” said Captain Murray. 
“ Frank, my lad, your father asked me to give an eye 
to you, and bade me tell you that if you were ever in 
any difficulty you were to come to me for help. Re- 
member that please, for I will help Robert Gowan’s son 
in every way I can.” 

The friendly feeling he had already had for his fa- 
ther’s companion all came back on the instant, and 
Frank held out his hand. 

“ Hah, that’s right, boy. You have your father’s eye 
for a friend. Come along, and let’s have a quiet chat. 
I want company to-night, for this business makes one 
low-spirited. Come along, Hotspur.” 

“Do you mean to continue insulting me, sir?” said 
Andrew sharply. 

” I ? No. There, you are put out because I spoke 
so plainly. Look here, Forbes, I should not like to see 
you arrested and dismissed from your service for utter- 
ing treasonable words, and you will be one of these 
days. It is being talked about in the Palace, but fortu- 
nately only by your friends. Come, it is only a few 
steps, and we may as well talk sitting down.” 

The lad was on the point of declining coldly ; but the 
officer’s extended hand and genial smile disarmed him, 
and there was something so attractive in his manner 
that, unable to resist, he allowed Captain Murray to 
pass an arm through his and march both lads to his 
quarters. 

“ Hah ! this is better,” he said, as he placed chairs 
for his visitors. “ Poor old Gowan ! I wish he were 
with us. Why, Frank, my lad, what a series of adven- 
tures in a short time ! Only the other night, and we 
were all sitting comfortably at dinner. How soon a 
storm springs up. Heard the last about our German 
friend ?” 

“ Enemy,” muttered Andrew. 

“ Well, enemy if you like. I saw the doctor just be- 
fore I caught sight of you, and he told me ” 


146 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Not dead ?” said Frank wildly. 

‘ ‘ No. He has made a sudden change for the better. 
The doctor says he has the constitution of an ox, and 
that has pulled him through.” 

“ Ugh !” ejaculated Andrew ; and Frank spoke has- 
tily to cover his companion’s rudeness. 

“ How long do you think my father will have to be 
away ?” 

“ Till his Majesty dies, or, if he is fortunate, till your 
mother and the Princess have won over his Royal High- 
ness to do battle with his father on your father’s be- 
half.” 

“ But do you think he is likely to succeed ?” 

“ I hope so, my lad. The King may give way. It 
will not be from friendly feeling, or a desire to do a kind 
action — what do you call it ? — an act of clemency.” 

“ He’ll never pardon Sir Robert !” cried Andrew, 
bringing his fist down upon the table heavily. 

“ I think he will,” said Captain Murray ; “ for his 
Majesty is a keen man of the world, a good soldier, and 
a good judge of soldiers. I think that out of policy, 
and the knowledge that he is very unpopular, he may 
think it wise to pardon a gallant officer, and to bring 
him back into the ranks of the men whom he can trust.” 

“Yes, yes,” cried Frank excitedly ; and his eyes 
brightened as he treasured up words, every one of which 
would, he felt sure, gladden his mother’s heart. 

“ Hadn’t you better get up and see if any one is 
listening at the door, Captain Murray ?” said Andrew 
sarcastically. 

“ Because my words sound treasonable, my lad ?” 

“ Yes, and may be magnified by the echoes of the 
Palace walls, sir.” 

The big, frank officer sank back in his chair, and 
laughed merrily. 

“ You’re a queer fellow, Forbes — a clever fellow — 
with a splendid memory ; but — there, don’t feel insulted 
—you must have been meant for a woman : you have 


THE KING’S DECREE. 


147 


such a sharp, spiteful tongue. No, no, no — sit still. 
You must take as well as give. Do you two ever fall 
out, Frank ? He’s as hot as pepper.” 

“Yes, often,” said Frank, smiling; “but we soon 
make it up again, for he’s about the bravest and best 
fellow I ever knew.” 

As Frank spoke, he reached over and gripped his 
friend’s arm warmly. 

“You don’t know how good and kind and helpful he 
has been in all this trouble.” 

“ I believe it,” said Captain Murray, smiling. “ He’s 
a lucky fellow too, for he has won a good friend. You 
hear, Hotspur ? A good friend in Frank here, who is 
the very spit of his father, one of the bravest, truest 
soldiers that ever lived.” 

These words were said in a way which made Frank 
feel a little choky, and turned the tide of Andrew 
Forbes’s anger, which now ebbed rapidly away. 

“ You’ll come to me, my lads, both of you, if you 
want help ?” said the captain, at their parting an hour 
later. 

“ Yes, of course,” cried Frank eagerly ; but Andrew 
Forbes was silent. 

“And you, Andrew lad. Gowan asked me to be a 
friend to you too ; for he said that Lady Gowan liked 
you, and that it was a hard position for a lad like you 
to be placed in, and he is right.” 

“ Did Sir Robert say that, sir?” said the lad huskily. 

“ Yes, when we said good-bye.” 

“ Yes, I will come to you, sir — when I can.” 

The last words were to himself, and he was silent for 
some time as they walked back to their quarters. 

“ I wish I hadn’t such a sharp temper, Frank,” he 
said at last. “ But it is a queer position, and the harness 
galls me. I can’t help it. I ought to go away.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION AND FRANK IS 
STARTLED. 

OUR mother must be a favourite with the Prin- 



i cess, and no mistake,” said Andrew one morn- 
ing, ” or after that business of your father’s you would 
never be allowed to stay.” 

“ If you come to that,” said Frank in retort, “ if one 
half of what I know about were to get abroad, where 
would you be ?” 

“ Perhaps in two pieces, with the top bit carefully 
preserved, as a warning to treasonable people — so 
called.” 

“ I don’t think that,” said Frank gravely ; ” for they 
would not go to such lengths with a mere boy.” 

“ Who are you calling a mere boy ?” 

“ You,” replied Frank coolly. “You are quite as 
young as I am in Some things, though you are so much 
older in others.” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps so, ’ ’ said Andrew rather haughtily. * ‘ Any- 
how, I don’t feel in the least afraid of my principles 
being known. You can’t tell tales, being one of us.” 

“ I — am — not — and — never — will — be !” said Frank, 
dividing his words as if there were a comma between 
each pair, and speaking with tremendous emphasis. 

“ Oh, all right,” said Andrew, with a merry laugh. 
“ I should like to hear you say that to Mr. George 
Selby.” 

“ I’d say it plainly to him and the whole of the mem- 
bership of his club,” said Frank hotly. 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION. 149 

“ Not you. Wouldn’t dare. Come with me on 
Friday and say it.” 

I ? No. Let them come to me if they want it 
said. ” 

“ They don’t. They’ve got you, and they’ll keep 
you.” 

“ Time will prove that, Drew. I’m very glad, though, 
that you have given up going.” 

“ Given up what ?” 

“ Going to those dangerous meetings ; and, I say, 
give up being so fond of staring at yourself in the glass. 
I never did see such a vain coxscomb of a fellow.” 

“ H — r — r — r !” growled Andrew, as he swung round 
fiercely upon his fellow-page. “ Oh, if I had not made 
up my mind that I wouldn’t quarrel with a brother ! 
Ah ! you may laugh ; but you’ll repent it one of these 
days. ” 

The lad clenched his fist as he spoke ; but he was met 
by such a good-tempered smile that he turned away 
again more angry than ever, 

“ I can’t hit you — I won’t hit you !” he gasped. 

“I know that,” cried Frank. “You can’t hit a fel- 
low who is fighting hard to make you sensible. I say, 
who is this Mr. George Selby ?” 

“ Never you mind.” 

“ But I do mind. I want to know.” 

“ Well, a great friend of him over the water.” 

“ How came you to get acquainted with him 
first £” 

“ You wait, and you’ll know.” 

“ Don’t tell me without you like ; but he’s a danger- 
ous friend, and I’m very glad you’ve given up seeing 
him.’ ’ 

“ Are you ?” said Andrew, with a curious smile. 
“ Why, I’ve seen him again and again.” 

“ You have !” cried Frank, in astonishment. 
“ When ?” 

“ Oh, at different times. Last evening, for instance, 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


* 5 ° 

in the Park, while you were with your mother. He 
came to feed the ducks.” 

“ You won’t be happy till you are sent away in dis- 
grace.” 

“ That’s very true, Franky ; but 1 don’t think I shall 
feel the disgrace. What would you say, too, if I told 
you that I have been three times to the city ?” 

“ Impossible !” 

“ Oh no ; these things are not impossible to one who 
wants to do them.” 

“ Oh, Drew, Drew !” cried Frank. 

“ There, don’t you pity me. You are the one to be 
pitied.” 

“ I say, hadn’t we better talk about something else ?” 

“ Yes. Has Lady Gowan heard from Sir Robert ?” 

Frank shook his head gloomily. 

“ What, not written yet ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Then they’re stopping his letters !” cried Andrew. 

Frank started violently. 

‘‘ That’s it. Just the mean thing that these people 
would do. I’m sure your father would not have let all 
this time pass without sending news.” 

“ Oh, they would not do that !” cried Frank. “ He 
is waiting till he is settled down, and then we shall go 
and join him.” 

‘‘You will not,” said Andrew. ‘‘They’ll keep you 
both here, as you’ll see. But, I say, hadn’t we better 
talk about something else ?” 

‘‘ If you like,” said Frank coldly. 

“ Well, then, I haven’t heard, for I haven’t seen Cap- 
tain Murray or the doctor. What news have you heard 
of Steinberg ?” 

“ He’s getting better, and going home to Hanover as 
soon as he can bear to travel.” 

“ That’s good news,” cried Andrew. “ I wish he’d 
take the King and his court with him.” 

Frank gave him an angry look, then a sharp glance 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION. 151 


round to see if his companion’s words had been heaid, 
and the latter burst out laughing. 

“ Poor old Frank !” he said merrily. “ There, I 
won’t tease you by saying all these disloyal things. 
But, I say, your acts give the lie to your words. You’re 
as true to us as steel. Come, don’t be cross.” 

This sort of skirmishing went on often enough, for 
the two lads were always at work trying to undermine 
each other’s principles ; but they dropped into the habit 
of leaving off at the right time, so as to avoid quarrel- 
ling, and the days glided on in the regular routine of 
the court. But a great change had taken place in one 
who so short a time before was a mere schoolboy, and 
Lady Gowan could not help remarking it in the rather 
rare occasions when she had her son alone, and talked 
to him and made him the repository of her troubles. 

“ 1 could not bear all this, Frank,” she said one day, 
” if it were not for the Princess’s kindness. Someday 
we shall have your father forgiven, and he will be 
back.’ ’ 

“ But someday is so long coming, mother. Why 
don’t we go to him ?” 

“ Because he wishes us to stay here, and he will not 
expose me to the miseries and uncertainties of the life 
he is leading.” 

“ But we would not mind,” cried Frank. 

“ No, we would not mind ; but we must do that 
which he wishes, my dear.” 

This was three months after Sir Robert’s enforced 
departure from the court, and when Andrew Forbes’s 
words respecting the communications sent by Sir Rob- 
ert being stopped had long proved to be unjust. 

“ Is he still in France ?” asked Frank. 

“ Yes, still there,” said Lady Gowan, with a sigh. 

“ And we can’t join him. Don’t you think, if you 
tried again, the Princess might succeed in getting him 
recalled ?” 

“ I have tried till I dare try no more, for fear of dis- 


152 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


gusting one who has proved herself my great friend by 
my importunity. We must be content with knowing 
that some day your father will be recalled, and then all 
will be well again.” 

Lady Gowan did not explain to her son by what 
means she had letters from her husband, and once when 
he asked her point blank she did not speak out, and he 
did not dare to press the matter. 

And still the time went on. 

Baron Steinberg was declared by the doctor well 
enough to take his journey ; and one day, to Frank’s 
relief, Andrew met him with the news that the German 
noble had taken his departure. 

“I saw him go,” said Andrew; “and, as he came 
out to the carriage, looking as thin as a herring, I 
couldn’t help smiling, for all the bounce seemed 
to be gone out of him, and he was walking with a 
stick.” 

“ Poor wretch !” said Frank. 

“ Nonsense ! Got what he deserved. Some of these 
foreign officers seem to think that they wear swords and 
learn to use them for nothing else but to enable them 
to play the part of bullies and insult better men, force 
them to a fight, and then kill them. I’m only too glad 
one of them has had his lesson.” 

“ But it’s very horrible,” said Frank thoughtfully. 

“ Of course it is,” said Andrew, purposely misunder- 
standing him. “ He’d have killed your father with as 
little compunction as he would a rat.” 

“ Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Frank, with a shiver. 

“ But he won’t be so ready to insult people next time ; 
and next time will be a long way off, I know. But, I 
say, it’s sickening, that it is.” 

“What is ?” 

“ The fuss made over a fellow like that. Baron in- 
deed ! He’s only a foreign mercenary ; and here is 
your poor father sent out of the country, while my lord 
has apartments set aside for him in the Palace, and he’s 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION. 153 


petted and pampered, and now at last he goes off in one 
of the King’s carriages with an escort.” 

“ Oh, well, as far as he is concerned, it does not 
matter.” 

“ Oh, but it does. I say it’s shameful that such pref- 
erence should be shown to foreigners. If matters go 
on like this, there’ll be no old England left ; we shall 
be all living in a bit of Germany.” 

“ Well, he has gone,” said Frank ; “so let it 
rest.” 

“ I can’t, I tell you ; it makes my blood boil.” 

“ Go and drink some cold water to cool it.” 

“ Bah ! You’ll never make a good outspoken Eng- 
lishman, Frank.” 

“ Perhaps not. I shall never make a quarrelsome 
one,” said Frank quietly. 

“ What ! Oh, I like that ! Why, you’re the most 
quarrelsome fellow I ever met. I wonder we haven’t 
had our affair in the Park before now. If it hadn’t 
been for my forbearance we should.” 

Frank stared at his companion in astonishment, for it 
was quite evident that he was speaking sincerely. 

“ Come along,” said Andrew. 

“Where ?” 

“ Out in the Park, where we can breathe the fresh 
air. I feel stifled in these close rooms, breathing the 
air of a corrupt court.” 

“ No, thank you,” said Frank. 

“ What ! You won’t come ?” 

“ No, thank you.” 

“ Why ? We’re quite free this morning.” 

“ I’m afraid.” 

“What, that I shall challenge you to fight some- 
where among the trees ?” 

“ No ; I don’t want to go and feed the ducks.” 

“There, what did I say?” cried Andrew. “You 
really are about as quarrelsome a fellow as ever lived. 
No, no ; I don’t mean that. Come on, Frank, old lad ; 


i54 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


I do want a breather this morning. I’ll do anything 
you like — run races if you wish.” 

“ Will Mr. George Selby be out there on the look-out 
for you ?” 

“ No,” said Andrew, with a gloomy look. “ Poor 
fellow ! I wish he would. Honour bright, we shan’t 
meet any one I sympathise with there.” 

“ Very well, then, I’ll come.” 

“ Hurrah !” cried Andrew eagerly. 

“ It is stuffy and close in here. I did hope that we 
should have been down at the old house by this time.” 

*‘ Yes, that holiday got knocked on the head. Has 
Lady Gowan heard from your father again ?” 

“ Hush !” 

“ Oh, very well ; I’ll whisper. But there are no spies 
here.” 

“ Mother hasn’t heard now for some time, and she’s 
growing very uneasy. She has been getting worse and 
worse. Oh, what a miserable business it is ! I wish we 
were with him.” 

“ Yes, I wish we were ; for if matters go on like this 
much longer, I shall run away. Here, what do you say, 
Frank ? I’m sick of being a palace poodle. Let’s go 
and seek adventures while we’re searching for your 
father.” 

“Seek nonsense!” said Frank testily. ‘‘Life isn’t 
like what we i;ead in books.” 

“ Oh yes, it is — a deal more than you think. Let’s 
go ; it would be glorious.” 

‘‘Nonsense! Even if I wanted to, how could I ? You 
know what my father said — that I was to stay and pro- 
tect my mother.” 

‘‘ She’d be safe enough where she is, and she’d glory 
in her son being so brave as to go in search of his 
father.” 

“ No, she would think it was cowardly of me to for- 
sake her, whatever she might say ; and if I went off in 
that way, after the kind treatment we have received 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION. 155 


from the Prince and Princess, it would make my poor 
mother’s position worse than ever.” 

“ I don’t believe that the Prince and Princess would 
mind it a bit. For I will say that for him — he isn’t such 
a bad fellow ; and I nearly like her. He isn’t so very 
easy, Frank, I can tell you. He’s pretty nearly a pris- 
oner. The King won’t let him go and live away, be- 
cause he’s afraid he’d grow popular, and things would 
be worse than they are. Look how the people are talk- 
ing, and how daring they are getting. ” 

“ Are they ?” 

“ Oh yes. There’ll be trouble soon. Come on.” 

“ Mind, I trust to your honour, Drew.” 

“ Of course. Then you won’t come off with me ?” 

“ No— I— will not.” 

Andrew laughed. 

“ I say, though,” he said, as they went past the quar- 
ters the baron had occupied, “ it was rather comic to 
see that cripple go.* Just before he got into the car- 
riage, he turned to thank the doctor, and he caught 
sight of me.” 

” What ! did he recognise you ?” 

‘‘I don’t think so; but I was laughing — well no, 
smiling — and he smiled back, and bowed to me, think- 
ing, I suppose, that I was there to say good-bye to him. 
He little knew what I was thinking. Well, good rid- 
dance. But the doctor ” 

“ Eh ?” said a sharp voice, and the gentleman named 
stepped out of one of the dark doorways they were 
passing in the low colonnade. 

“ Want to see me, my lads ?” 

“ N — no,” stammered Andrew, thoroughly taken 
aback. ” We — were talking about you starting the 
baron off.” 

“ Oh, I see,” said the doctor, smiling. “ Of course, 
I saw you there. Yes, he’s gone. Hah ! Yes ! That 
was a very peculiar wound, young gentlemen ; and I 
honestly believe that not one in a hundred in my pro- 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


* 5 6 

fession could have saved his life. I worked very hard 
over his case, and he went off without so much as giving 
me a little souvenir — a pin or a ring, or a trifle of that 
kind — seal, for instance.” 

“ What could you expect from one of those Germans, 
sir ?” said Andrew contemptuously. 

“ Yes, what indeed !” said the doctor, taking snuff, 
and looking curiously at Frank. “ Bad habit this, 
young man. Don’t you follow my example. Dirty 
habit, eh ? But, I say, young fellow,” he added, turn- 
ing to Andrew, ‘‘a still tongue maketh a wise head. 
Wise man wouldn’t shout under the Palace windows 
such sentiments as those, holding the German nation 
up to contempt. There, a nod’s as good as a wink to a 
blind horse. Here, Gowan, what’s the last news ?” 

“ I don’t know of any, sir.” 

“ Come, come ! I’m a friend of his. You needn’t be 
so close with me. I mean about your father.” 

” I have none, sir.” 

“ Eh ? Don’t you know where he is ?” 

“No, sir,” said Frank sadly. 

“ Humph ! Pity !” said the doctor, taking a fresh 
pinch of snuff. ■* Because, if you had known, you 
might have written to tell him that I've cured the 
baron, and sent him away. Yes, I worked very hard 
over his case. Many’s the night I sat up with him, so 
that he shouldn’t slip through my fingers. For it 
would have been so much worse for your father if he 
had.” 

“ Yes, horrible,” said Frank. 

“ I say, you ought to get him back now. Have a 
try.” 

“ But what can I do, sir ?” cried Frank eagerly. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. No use to ask me, boy. Poli- 
tics are not in my way. If you like to come to me with 
a broken bone, or a cut, or a hole in you anywhere, 
I’m your man, and I’ll try and set you right. Or if you 
want a dose of good strong physic, I’ll mix you up 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION. 157 

something that will make you smack your lips and shout 
for sugar. But that other sort of thing is quite out of 
my way. What do you say to our all signing a round 
robin, and sending it into the King ? for we all want 
Gowan back.” 

“ Yes, sir — capital !” cried Frank ; but Andrew 
smiled contemptuously. 

“ Or look here. You’re a boy — smart lad too, with 
plenty of brains,” continued the doctor, who had noticed 
Andrew’s sneer; “sensible sort of boy — not a dandy, 
gilded vane, like Forbes here. Ah ! don’t you look at 
me like that, sir, or next time you’re sick I’ll give you 
such a dose as shall make you smile the other way.” 

“ Come along, Frank,” said the lad angrily. 

“You wait a minute. I haven’t done with him yet. 
Look here, boy,” he continued, clapping Frank on the 
shoulder; “there’s nothing a man and a father likes 
better than a good, natural, straightforward, manly 
sort of boy. I don’t mean a fellow who spends half his 
time scenting himself, brushing his hair to make it curl, 
and looking at himself in the glass. — Here, hallo ! what’s 
the matter with you, Forbes ? I didn’t say you did. 
Pavement warm ? Cat on hot bricks is nothing to you.” 

Andrew tightened his lips, and the doctor went on. 

“ Look here, Gowan ; I tell you what I’d do if I were 
you. I should just wait for my chance — you’ll get 
plenty — and then I should go right in front of the King, 
dump myself down on one knee, and when he asks you 
what you want, tell him bluntly, like a manly boy 
should, to forgive your father, who is as brave an officer 
as ever cried ‘ Forward ! ’ to a company of soldiers.” 

“ Bah !” ejaculated Andrew. 

“Bo!” cried the doctor. “ Good-looking gander ! 
What do you know about it ? — You ask him. As the 
offended king, he may feel ready to say no j but as the 
man and father, he’ll very likely be ready to sayjw.” 

“ Oh, 1 never thought of that !” cried Frank excit- 
edly. 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


* 5 * 


“ Then think about it now, my boy. That’s my pre- 
scription for a very sore case. You do it and win ; and 
if your mother doesn’t think she’s got the best son in 
the world, I’m a Dutchman, and we’ve got plenty with- 
out.” 

“ Oh, thank you, thank you, doctor !” cried Frank. 

” Wish you luck, boy. Do that, and you may be as 
proud as a peacock afterward — pfoud as Andrew Forbes 
here, and that’s saying a deal.” 

The doctor nodded to them both, took a fresh pinch 
of snuff loudly, and went off. 

” Bah !” growled Andrew, as he went off at a great 
rate toward the Park. ” Ridiculous ! How can an 
English gentleman advise such a degrading course ! Go 
down on your knees to that Dutchman, and beg !” 

“ I’d go down on my face to him, Drew,” cried Frank 
excitedly. 

“ You won’t follow out his advice ?” 

“ I will, and when everybody is there,” cried Frank. 
“ He’s right, and I believe that the King will.” 

Andrew was silent for some minutes, and they walked 
on, inadvertently going down by the waterside, and 
directing their steps to the clump of trees where the 
duel had taken place. 

They passed over the ground in silence, each pictur- 
ing the scene, and then went slowly on, so as to pass 
round the end of the canal — for such it was in those 
days — and return by the other side. 

Andrew was the first to break the silence, Frank being 
plunged in deep thought over the doctor’s advice. 

“ You ought to be very proud of your father, Frank,” 
he said. 

“ I am,” was the laconic reply. 

“ My father, when I told him, said he behaved most 
gallantly, but that he ought to have killed his man.” 

“ Your father !” cried Frank, staring. “ Why, when 
did you see your father ?” 

“ Can’t people write ?” said Andrew hastily • and he 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION. 159 


looked slightly confused. “ I did learn how to read 
and write,” he added, with a forced laugh. 

Frank was silent for a few moments. 

”1 say,” he said at last, “doesn’t it seem strange 
that we should be both like this — each with his father 
obliged to keep abroad ?” 

“ Very,” said Andrew drily, and he glanced sidewise 
at his companion ; but Frank was thinking with his 
brow all in lines, till they came round opposite to the 
house overlooking the Park, where he stopped to gaze 
up at the windows. 

“ Poor old place looks dismal,” said Andrew, “ with 
its shutters to and blinds drawn down. I wonder your 
mother doesn’t let it.” 

“What, our house?” cried Frank, flushing. “Oh, 
they wouldn’t do that.” 

“ Seems a pity for such a nice place to be empty. 
But there is some one in it of course ?” 

“ Only our old housekeeper and a maid. Come 
along ; it makes me feel miserable to look at the place.” 

“ But doesn't your mother go there now ?” 

“ No ; she has not been since — since ” 

He did not finish his sentence, for a curious sensation 
of huskiness affected his throat, and he felt determined 
now to follow out the doctor’s suggestion, so that there 
might be some one to take interest in the old town 
house again. 

He took a step or two, and then waited, for Andrew 
appeared to be attracted more than repelled by the 
gloomy aspect of the blank-looking place, and then, all 
at once, Frank’s heart seemed to stand still, and a 
stifling sense of suffocation to affect him, so that it was 
some moments before he could speak, and then it was 
in a tone of voice that startled his companion. 

“ Come away !” cried Frank angrily, and with singu- 
lar haste. “ Don’t stop there staring at the windows ; 
it looks so absurd.” 

Andrew made no reply then, but walked sharply off 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


160 

with his companion till they were some hundred yards 
away. 

“ Don’t be cross with me, Franky,” he said gently. 
“ It isn’t my fault, and you ought to know. I feel it as 
much as you do. I always liked Sir Robert, and you 
know how much I care for Lady Gowan.” 

Frank turned to him warmly. 

“ Yes, I know you do,” he said, with a wild and 
wistful look in his eyes ; and his lips parted as if he 
were eager to say something particular to his com- 
panion. 

” There, don’t take on about it. Things seem all 
out of joint with us all ; but they’ll come right some 
day. And don’t you take any notice of me. I feel 
sometimes as if I’d turned sour, and as if everything 
was wrong, and I was curdled. I can’t help it. Perhaps 
the doctor’s right. You do as he said, and ask the 
King boldly. For some things I should like to see SiV 
Robert back.” 

Frank made a quick gesture as if to speak out, but 
Andrew checked him with a laugh. 

“ Oh, I mean it,” he said. ” I’d rather he joined us.” 

Frank gave an indignant start. 

“ There, there ! Don’t be cross. I won’t say any 
more. You ask the King. He’s only a man, if he is a 
king ; and if he doesn’t grant your petition, I shall 
hate him ten times as much as I do now. Why, what a 
fellow you are ! You’re all of a tremble, and your face 
is quite white.” 

Is it ?” said Frank, with a strange little gasp. 

“ Yes ; either thinking about that petition, or the 
sight of your poor, dismal old house, or both of them, 
have regularly upset you. Come along, and don’t 
think about them. I must say this, though, for I want 
to be honest : if I were placed as you are, with a father 
who had stood so high in George’s service, I think per- 
haps I should be ready to do what the doctor said for 
the sake of my mother if she was alive,” 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A SUGGESTION. 161 


Again Frank gave his companion that wistful look, 
and his lips parted, but no words came ; and they went 
on down by the water-side, without noticing that a 
shabby-looking man was slouching along behind them, 
throwing himself down upon the grass, as if idling away 
the time. And all the while that the two lads were in 
the Park he kept them in sight, sometimes close at 
hand, sometimes distant, but always ready to follow 
them when they went on. 

Frank noticed it at last, as they were standing by the 
water’s edge, and whispered his suspicions that they 
were being watched. 

“ Who by ? That ragged-looking fellow yonder ?” 

“ Yes ; don’t take any notice.” 

“ No, I’m not going to,” said Andrew, stooping to 
pick up a stone and send it flying over the water. 
‘‘Spy, perhaps. Well, we’re not feeding the ducks 
to-day. He’s a spy for a crown. Well, let him spy. 
The place is full of them. I’ve a good mind to lead 
him a good round, and disappoint him. No, I will 
not ; it might lead to our being arrested for doing noth- 
ing, and what would be the good of doing that ?” 

The man did his work well, for he kept them in sight 
without seeming to be looking at them once, till they 
went back to the Palace, where they parted for a time, 
and Andrew said to himself : 

“ I wish I had not talked as I did about his father 
and mother. Poor old fellow ; how he was upset !” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


IT WAS NOT FANCY, 


NDREW FORBES would have felt more compunc- 



r\ tion had he seen Frank when he was alone ; for 
the lad hurried to his room, where he stood trembling 
with agitation and thinking of what he should do. 

His first thought was to go to his mother ; but he 
knew that he could not see her at that hour, and even 
if it had been possible, he shrank from telling her, partly 
from dread of the state of agitation in which his news 
would plunge her, partly from the thought that he 
might have been mistaken — that fancy had had a great 
deal to do with it. 

“ But I’ll put that to the test as soon as it’s dark, if 
I can get away unseen,” he said to himself ; and then 
he walked up and down his room, wondering whether 
Andrew had seen anything— coming to the conclusion 
at last that if he had he would have spoken out at once. 

Then came another vein of thought to trouble him, 
and he was mentally tossed about as to whether he 
ought not to have confided in his companion. Then 
again he tortured himself as to whether he ought not to 
go at once to Captain Murray and confide in him. 
Question after question arose till his head felt dizzy, 
and he was so confused that he was afraid to go and 
join his companion at the evening meal. 

But at last his common sense told him that all this 
worry of thought was due to the cowardly desire to get 
help, when, under the circumstances, he knew that he 


IT WAS NOT FANCY. 


163 

ought to have sufficient manliness to act and prove 
whether what he had seen was fancy or the reality. 

If it proved to be real — 

He trembled at the thought ; but making a brave 
effort, he well bathed his aching ‘temples with cold 
water, and went down to the evening meal, made a 
show of eating, and then excused himself on the plea 
of a very bad headache, got up, and was leaving the 
room, when, to his horror, Andrew joined him. 

“ Here,” he said, “ I don’t like to see you in this 
way, I helped to give you this headache. Let’s go and 
have a walk up and down the courtyard.” 

No, don’t you come,” said Frank, so earnestly that 
Andrew gave way and drew back. 

“ Very well,” he said. “ Go and lie down for a bit ; 
you’ll be better then.” 

Frank made as if to go to his room, but took his hat 
and cloak and slipped out, forcing himself to cross the 
courtyard calmly and walk carelessly by the sentries, 
turning off directly after in the opposite direction to 
that in which he wished to go, and without seeming to 
pay any attention kept his eyes travelling in all direc- 
tions in search of the man they had seen in the afternoon. 

But he was nowhere visible, and to make more sure 
the lad took off his hat to fan himself, the evening being 
warm, and in so doing purposely dropped his glove, so 
that in stooping to recover it he could give a good look 
to the rear to see whether he was followed. 

But there was no one suspicious-looking in sight, and, 
taking advantage of the darkness of the soft warm even- 
ing, he began to walk more sharply, going through the 
Park till he was opposite to the house, and after glanc- 
ing to right and left, to make sure that he was not ob- 
served, he began to examine it carefully. Those to 
right and left had several windows illumined, but his 
old London home was all in complete darkness, though 
he felt that if he we»t round to the street front he would 
see a light in the housekeeper’s room. 


164 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


Dark, everywhere dark ; no gleam showing anywhere, 
not even at the window upon which his eyes had last 
rested when he was there that afternoon. 

“ Fancy,” he thought ; and he breathed more freely. 
“ Yes, it must have been fancy.” 

“ No, it was not fancy !” and his heart began to throb 
violently, his breath came short, and he looked wildly to 
right and left, and then walked across the road to stand 
beneath the trees to make sure that no one was watch- 
ing from there. 

But he was quite alone as far as he could see, and he 
ran lightly back to the railings, wild with excitement 
now, and stood gazing across the little garden at that 
back window which was heavily curtainfed ; but right 
up in the left-hand corner there was a faint glow, which 
he soon proved to himself could not be a reflection on 
the glass from outside. 

Then he was right ; and, panting now as if he had 
been running heavily, he went round into the street, 
reached the front of the house, where, as he had ex- 
pected, he could see low down the faintly illumined 
blind of the housekeeper’s room, and then rang gently. 

He waited, and there was no response ; and he rang 
again, but the time passed again ; minutes — more prob- 
ably moments — elapsed before he heard a window 
opened softly overhead. 

” What is it ?” said a woman’s voice. 

“ Come down and open the door, Berry,” said the 
boy quickly. 

“ You, Master Frank ?” 

” Yes ; make haste.” 

“ Is — is any one with you ?” said the woman in a 
whisper, “ because I don’t like opening the door after 
dark.” 

“ No, I’m quite alone. Make haste.” 

The woman did not stop to close the window, and the 
next minute Frank heard the bolts drawn softly back, 
the key turned, and as the door was being opened he 


IT WAS NOT FANCY. 165 

stepped forward, but only to stop short on the step, for 
the housekeeper had not removed the chain. 

“ What is it, my dear ?” she said. 

She had not brought a light, and Frank could dimly 
see her face at the narrow opening. 

“What is it?” cried Frank impatiently. “Take 
down the chain, and let me in. Don’t keep me stand- 
ing here.” 

“ But her ladyship gave me strict orders, my dear, 
that I wasn’t to admit any one after dark, for there are 
so many wicked people about.” 

“Did my father tell you not to admit me?” 
whispered Frank, with his face close to the narrow 
slit. 

“ What ! before he went abroad, my dear ?” faltered 
the woman. 

“ No, no — yesterday, to-day — whenever he came 
back.” 

“ Sir Robert, my dear ?” whispered the woman, with 
her voice trembling. 

“ Don’t be so stupid. I must — I will see him. I saw 
his face at the window this afternoon.” 

“ Oh, my dear, my dear !” stammered the woman. 

“ There, take down the chain, Berry.” 

“ I — I don’t think I ought, my dear. Stop a minute, 
and I’ll go and ask him.” 

“ No, no. Let me go up at once. You’ll be quite 
right in letting me.” 

The woman uttered a gasp, closed the door, and 
softly unhooked the chain, after which she opened the 
door just sufficiently for the boy to pass in, and closed 
and fastened it again. 

The hall was dark as could be, save for a faint gleam 
from the fanlight ; but Frank could have gone blindfold, 
and dashing over the marble floor to the foot of the 
staircase, he bounded up two steps at a time, reached 
the door of the back room, beneath which shone a line 
of light, and turned the handle sharply. As he did so, 


i66 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


there was a dull sound within, and the light was extin- 
guished. 

“ Open the door, father,” whispered the boy, with 
his lips to the keyhole. “ It is I — Frank.” 

There was the dull tremor of a heavy step crossing 
the floor, the door was unlocked, and the boy sprang 
forward in the darkness, the door was closed and 
relocked, and he was clasped in a pair of strong 
arms. 

“Oh, dad, dad, dad!” cried' the lad, in a panting 
whisper. 

“ My own boy ! Then you saw me this afternoon ?” 

“ Yes, just a faint glimpse of you. Oh, father, father, 
it wasn’t safe for you to come back !” 

‘‘No, not very, my boy; but I couldn’t stop away 
any longer. How is the dear one ?” 

“ Quite well — only she looks thin and pale, father. 
She’s fretting so because you are away.” 

“ Hah !” ejaculated Sir Robert, in a long-drawn sigh. 
“ I felt that she must be, and that helped to draw me 
back. Heaven bless her ! — Frank lad, as you have 

found me out But stop, did you tell her you had 

seen me ?” 

“ I haven’t seen her since, father ; and if I had, I 
shouldn’t have dared. What would she think ?” 

“ Bullets and bayonets, or worse, my boy. Quite 
right ; spoken like the brave, thoughtful lad you are 
growing. But it’s very hard, Frank. Don’t you think 
you could manage to bring her over here — say this time 
to-morrow evening ?” 

“ Yes, father, easily,” said Frank. 

“ My boy. Oh, if you knew how I long to see her 
again !” 

“ Yes, father,” said Frank bitterly, “ I could bring 
her, but for what ? — to see you arrested for coming 
back. It would be madness. There are spies every- 
where. I had to be so careful to get round here without 
being followed.” 


IT WAS NOT FANCY. 


167 

Sir Robert groaned as he stood there in the darkness, 
holding his son by his arms in a firm grip. 

“ I can’t help it, father. I must tell you the truth,” 
cried the boy passionately. 

“Yes, you are quite right, boy, and I’m weak and 
foolish to have proposed such a thing. But it’s hard, 
my lad — very, very hard.” 

“ Don’t I know, father?” 

“ Yes, yes, boy. But tell me, does she talk about me 
to you much ?” 

“ She talks of nothing else, father. But listen ; I’m 
going to petition the King myself. I’m going to kneel 
to him, and beg him to give you leave to return.” 

” You are, my boy ?” 

“ Yes, father,” cried Frank excitedly, ” directly I get 
a chance.” 

“ No, Frank, don’t do that,” said Sir Robert, rather 
sternly. 

“ You don’t wish me to, father ?” 

Sir Robert drew a deep breath, and then hoarsely : 

“ No. I desire that you do not. Your mother has 
through the Princess prayed and prayed in vain. No, 
Frank, you shall not do that.” 

“ Very well, father,” said the boy drearily. 

“ Hist ! Some one !” whispered Sir Robert ; and 
Frank turned sharply to see light gleaming beneath the 
door, and his father stepped away from him, and some- 
thing on the table grated softly as it was taken up. 

Then a soft voice said : 

” Wouldn’t you like a light, Sir Robert ? I saw yours 
was out.” 

” Yes,” came from close to where Frank stood with 
his hands turning wet in the darkness, and then he felt 
his father brush by him, the door was unlocked, and 
the housekeeper’s white face was seen lit up by the 
candle she carried. 

” Thank you, Berry,” said Sir Robert ; and he took 
the candle and relocked the door after the woman. 


i68 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


The light dazzled Frank for a few minutes, and then 
he was gazing wonderingly in his father’s face, to see 
that it was thin and careworn while the lines in his 
forehead were deepened. 

His sword and pistols lay upon the table close to 
some sheets of paper, the inkstand showing that he had 
been writing when he was interrupted by his visitor ; 
and the boy noticed, too, that there was a heavy cloak 
over a chair-back, and the curtains were very closely 
drawn. 

“ Don’t look so smart as in the old days, Frank, eh ?” 
said Sir Robert, with a sad smile. 

“ You look like my father,” said the boy firmly. 

“ And you like my son,” cried Sir Robert, patting 
the boy’s head. 

“ Then you really would not like me to venture to 
ask the King, father ?” 

Sir Robert pointed to a chair close by his own, and 
they sat down, the father still retaining his boy’s hand. 

“ No, Frank,” he said gravely. “ I should not now. 
It is too late.” 

“ But it would mean bringing you back, father.” 

** I am not a clever man, Frank lad,” said Sir Rob- 
ert. “ I am fair as a soldier, and I know my duties 
pretty well ; but when we get into the maze of politics 
and social matters, I am afraid that I am very stupid. 
Here, however, I seem to see in a dim sort of way that 
such a thing as you propose would be only weak and 
romantic. It sounds very nice, but it would only be 

raising your hopes and Stop. Does your mother 

know that you think of doing this ?” 

“ Oh no, father ; the doctor only just suggested it — 
now that Steinberg has recovered.” 

“ Very good of the doctor, and I am deeply in his 
debt for saving that wretched German baron’s life. Not 
pleasant to have known that you had killed a man in a 
quarrel, Frank.” 

“ Horrible, father !” said the boy emphatically. 


IT WAS NOT FANCY. 


169 


“ Yes, horrible, lad. But the doctor is a better man 
at wounds than he is at giving counsel. No, Frank, 
under any circumstances it would not have done. King 
George is too hard and matter-of-fact a man of the 
world to be stirred by my boy’s appeal. His German 
folk would look upon it as weakness, and would be 
offended. He cannot afford to offend the German 
people, for he has no real English friends, and between 
the two stools he’d be afraid of coming to the ground. 
No, you shall not humble yourself to do this ; and,” he 
said firmly, “ it is too late.” 

There was something so commanding in the way 
these last words were said that Frank drew a deep sigh 
of regret and the hopeful vision faded away behind the 
cloud his father drew over it. But the minutes were 
precious, and he could not afford time to regret the 
dashing of his hopes, when he had him for whose benefit 
they were designed sitting there holding his hand. 

“ Then you are going to stay here now, father?” he 
said. 

“ Here ? No, Frank. It is only a temporary hiding- 
place. I shall be off to-morrow.” 

“ Where to, father ?” 

“ Humph ! Don’t know for certain, my boy. As 
you say, the place swarms with spies, and though I have 
had to give up my gay uniform, plenty of people know 
my face, and I don’t even feel now that they are not 
hunting me down.” 

“ But if they did, what would happen ?” 

“ A fight, Frank — don’t tell your mother this ; she 
suffers enough. I can’t afford to be captured, and — you 
know what they do with the poor wretches they take ?” 

Frank shivered, and glanced at his father’s sword and 
pistols. 

“ Loaded, father ?” he said in a whisper. 

“ Yes, boy.” 

“ And is your sword sharp ?” 

“ As sharp as the cutler could make it. And I know 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


170 

how to use it, Frank ; but a man who carries a sword — 
if he is a man — is like a bee with its sting ; he will not 
use it save at the last extremity. You must remember 
that with yours.” 

“ Yes, father. But do think again ; we are both so 
unhappy there at the court.” 

“ What, in the midst of luxury and show !” said Sir 
Robert banteringly. 

“ Pah ! What is the use of all that when we know 
that you are driven away and dare not show your face ? 
Oh, do think again. Can’t you let us come and join 
you ?” 

“ It is impossible, my boy. Don’t press me. I have 
too many troubles as it is. Look here, Frank ; you are 
growing fast into a man, and you must try to help me 
as you did just now when I turned weak and foolish. 
The intense longing to see your mother was too much 
for me, but I have mastered it. You two are safe and 
well cared for at the Palace, where the Princess is your 
mother’s friend. I am nobody now, and what I do will 
not count as regards your mother and you. So try and 
be content, and stay.” 

“ But you, father ? Surely the King will forgive you 
soon.” 

Never, boy,” said Sir Robert sternly. ‘‘So be 
careful. A hint dropped of my whereabouts would give 
your mother intense suffering and dread for my life ; so 
she must not know.” 

“But your friends, father? Captain Murray — the 
doctor. Every one likes you.” 

“ They must not know, so be cautious. I feel quite 
a young man, Frank, and don’t want to have my life 
shortened, nor my body neither,” he added, with a grim 
smile. 

“ Oh, father !” cried the boy, with a shudder. 

“We must look the worst in the face, Frank. By 
my return here my life is forfeit, and the King’s people 
would be justified in shooting me down.” 


IT WAS NOT FANCY. 


171 


“ Oh, but, father, this is horrible.” 

Not to a soldier, Frank,” said Sir Robert, smiling. 
“ Soldiers get used to being shot at, and they don’t 
mind so much, because they know how hard it is for 
any one to hit a mark. There, you are warned now, so 
let’s talk of pleasanter things.” 

“ Yes, of course, father ; but I may come and see you 
again often ?” 

“ If you wish to see me taken.” 

Frank shuddered again. 

“ No. This must be your only visit. I am glad you 
have come ; but I can’t afford to indulge in good things 
now.” 

“You are going to stay in England, father?” cried 
Frank anxiously. 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ What are you going to do ?” 

“ That I cannot tell either, my boy ; and if I did 
know, for your mother’s and your peace of mind 1 
would not tell you.” 

“ That isn’t trusting me, father,” said Frank gloomily. 

“ And that is not trusting me, Frank — to know what 
is best.” 

“ Oh, but I do trust you, father. Now tell me,” cried 
the boy eagerly, “ what shall I do to help you ?” 

“ Stay where you are patiently, and watch over and 
help your mother.” 

“ Is that all, father?” said the boy, in a disappointed 
tone of voice. 

, “ All ? Is it not enough to be trusted to keep my 
secret, the knowledge which means your father’s life, 
boy, and to have the guardianship of the truest and best 
woman who ever lived — your mother ? And you ask 
‘is that all?’” 

“ Don’t be angry with me, father. I am very young 
and stupid. I will be as contented as I can ; only it is 
so hard to know that you are in danger, and to be doing 
nothing to help you.” 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


i 72 

“ You will be doing a great deal to help me, for you 
will be giving me rest of mind — and I want it badly 
enough. There, now you had better go. You may be 
asked for, and you can’t make the excuse that you have 
been to see your father.” 

“ No,” sighed Frank. ” But I shall see you again 
soon ?” 

“ Perhaps. I may come here sometimes. An extra 
hole is useful to a hunted animal, Frank ; but don’t 
question me, my boy, even if I seem mysterious. As 
your father, I can teH you nothing.” 

Frank sighed and clung to his father’s arm. 

“ There, I’ll run one risk. You may come here some- 
times. It will not look suspicious for you to visit your 
mother’s empty house.” 

“ My father’s empty house,” said the boy. 

“ No, your mother’s. Your father is an exile, an 
outcast, without any rights in England. I am dead in 
the eyes of the law, Frank, and when you come of age 
you can reign in my stead. Why, boy, if you liked to 
make a stand for it, they would, I dare say, tell you 
that you are now Sir Frank Go wan.” 

He looked so merrily in his son’s face, that the boy 
joined in his mirth. 

“ You must go now, my boy. I have work that will 
take me all night. But if you do come here in the hope 
of seeing me ” 

“ I shall not come,” said the boy firmly. 

“ Why ?” 

“ Because, to please myself, I will not do anything to 
make your position dangerous.” 

“ Well said, Frank ; but come now and then for my 
pleasure, and if I am not here, do this.” 

He rose and walked to a portrait framed in the wain- 
scotting over a side table, pointed to one little oval nut 
in the carving, twisted it slightly, and the picture swung 
forward, showing a shallow closet behind fitted with 


IT WAS NOT FANCY. 


i73 


shelves, and in which were swords and pistols, with 
flasks of powder and pouches of ball. 

“ You can look in there ; and if I have been, you will 
find a letter, written for you and your mother, by a Mr. 
Cross to apparently nobody. I am Mr. Cross, Frank. 
There. Try if you can open it.” 

He closed the picture door, and the boy tried, and 
opened and shut the panel easily, noting at the same 
time how ingeniously the carving tallied with portions 
on the other side of the framing. 

“ Now, then, sharp and short like a soldier, Frank. 
Heaven bless and protect you and your mother, who 
must not know I have been here. Good-bye !” 

“ Good-bye, father,” cried the boy in a choking voice 
as he clung to the strong, firm man, who pressed him 
to his breast, and then snatched himself away, and 
caught up sword and pistol from the table. 

For there was a sharp, impatient knocking on the 
panel of the door, and Sir Robeit whispered : 

** We have stayed too long !” 


CHAPTER XX. 


LADY GOWAN AT BAY. 


BEYING the impulse of the moment, Frank 



w snatched the remaining pistol from the table, and 
drew his sword, seeing his father nod approval, as he 
stretched out his hand to extinguish the light ; but 
before he had dashed it out, the knocking was repeated, 
and they heard a well-known voice. 

“ Robert — Robert ! Open quickly, dearest. It is I.” 

“ Ah !” cried Frank, with his heart giving a tremen- 
dous bound, while Sir Robert unlocked and flung open 
the door, and clasped his wife to his breast. 

Lady Gowan was half swooning and speechless from 
excitement ; but, making a brave effort, she recovered 
herself, and panted out as she struggled to free herself 
from her husband’s firm arms : 

“ Quick ! Not a moment to lose. Escape for your 


life, 


“What! They know?” 

“ Yes. The Princess came to my room to warn me. 
The spies have traced you here ; information has been 
given at the Palace. The King has been told, and the 
Princess bade me try to save your life before the guard 
came to arrest you.” 

“ Hah ! Sharp work for us, Frank lad. Well, I have 
seen and kissed you, darling. Now I must try and 
save your husband’s life.’’ 

As he spoke he buckled on his sword belt, thrust his 
pistols in his pockets, Frank handing him the second, 


LADY GOWAN AT BAY. 


i75 


and took up his hat and the heavy cloak from where 
they lay. 

“ Good bye, darling. Frank knows how I can get a 
letter to you through him.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but you are killing me, Robert ; for pity’s 
sake, fly !” 

“ My own ! Yes,” he whispered, as he folded Lady 
Gowan in his arms again. 

“ Ah !” cried Frank wildly, for a heavy series of 
blows from the front door knocker resounded through 
the house. 

“Too late !” cried Lady Gowan wildly, as Frank 
dashed out of the door to the front room to peer through 
the window. 

He was back in a few moments, to find his mother 
clinging to his father, ghastly with the horrible dread 
which had attacked her. 

“ Soldiers — a dozen at least in front !” panted Frank. 

There was another loud knocking at the street door. 

“ Quick, father, out by that window. You can drop 
from the balcony.” 

“ Yes, my boy, easily.” 

“ Then get over the railing and cross the Park.^ Go 
straight through by the Palace. No one would think 
you likely to take that way.” 

“ Good advice, boy. Out with the candle. That’s 
right.” 

Lady Gowan blew out the light, and Frank quickly 
drew the heavy curtain aside, and uttered a groan, for 
the garden was full of armed men, dimly seen in the 
gloom amid the shrubs. 

“ Trapped, Frank,” said Sir Robert quietly, the dan- 
ger having made the soldier cool. 

Lady Gowan uttered a faint, despairing cry. 

“ Hush, dear !” said Sir Robert firmly. “ Be a 
woman — my wife. I may escape yet. See Berry, and 
keep her from opening the door, no matter what they 
say or do.’’ 


176 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Yes, yes,” said Lady Gowan excitedly ; “ but, Rob- 
ert, what will you do ?’ ’ 

“ Escape, if you help me. Now be calm. Let them 
break in, and when they do face them. You were 
alarmed, and did not know what evil was abroad. You 
need no excuse for refusing to have your house — and it 
is your house — opened to a riotous party of drunken 
soldiers for aught you know. Now go down. Do any- 
thing you can to gain time for me. Heaven bless you, 
darling, till we meet again .!” 

Lady Gowan’s answer was to hurry out on the stair- 
case, where the place was echoing to the resounding 
knocks and orders to open in the King’s name. She 
was just in time to seize the old housekeeper by the 
arm, while a hysterical crying came from the maid 
below. 

“ Oh, my lady, my lady ! They’re going to break 
in. I was about to unfasten the door.” 

“ Silence ! Touch it at your peril,” cried Lady 
Gowan imperatively. ” Let them break in if they dare. 
Go below to that foolish, sobbing girl, and stay there 
keeping her quiet.” 

” But they’ll break down the door, my lady.” 

“ Let them,” said Lady Gowan coolly. 

But she started as one of the narrow side windows 
was shivered by the butt of a musket, and the frag- 
ments of glass fell inside with a tinkling sound. 

“ That’s right ; now reach in and shoot back the 
bolts.” 

A hand and arm were thrust in through the hammered 
iron scroll work which covered the glass in the place of 
iron bars across the narrow window for protection, ren- 
dering it impossible for a man to creep past. 

But the arm came freely right up to its owner’s shoul- 
der, and in the gloom could be seen feeling about, the 
hand strained here and there to reach bolt, bar, or lock. 
Vainly enough, for they were far out of reach ; and at 
last, after several more angry orders, it was withdrawn. 


LADY GOWAN AT BAY. 


177 


“Try the other window!” cried the voice of the 
officer in command. “ Quick, men ; don’t shilly-shally. 
Use your butts.” 

Crash , crash and tinkle , tinkle went the broken glass as 
it fell upon the marble floor beyond the mat ; but the 
hole made was not in the best place, and there was an- 
other crash as the butt of a musket was driven through 
higher up, and simultaneously there was the loud report 
of the piece used as a battering-ram. 

“ What are you doing ?” roared the officer. 

“ Went off, sir.” 

“ Went off, idiot ! You must have touched the trig- 
ger.” 

“ No, sir. Both hands hold of the barrel.” 

“ Silence, sir ! How dare you !” roared the officer — 
“ how 'dare you ? Any one hurt, sergeant ?” 

“ No, sir ; bullet went too high ; but it’s gone through 
a window opposite.” 

Proof came of the truth of the man’s word, for a win- 
dow on the other side of the street was thrown open, 
and a voice shouted angrily : 

“ Hallo there ! What are you doing ? Want to shoot 
people ?” 

“ Go in, and shut your window !” cried the officer, 
in an authoritative tone. 

“Yes, that’s all very well,” cried the voice; “but 
you’ve no right to ” 

“ Silence, sir ! in the King’s name !” roared the 
officer. “ Here, four rear rank face about, make ready, 
present !” 

There was a shuffling sound, and the ring of muskets 
being brought up to the shoulder ; but before the com- 
mand Fire! could be uttered, even if it had been in- 
tended, the window opposite was banged down, and a 
laugh arose. 

“ Now then there,” said the officer to the man who 
had thrust in his arm on the other side of the door, 
“ can you reach ?” 


178 


IN HONOUR’S CA 'Si:. 


There was no reply for a time, while he man strained 
and reached out up and down, his hand mak i 1 pecu- 
liar whispering sound as it passed over >anelled 

woodwork between the door and window. 

“ Can’t reach, sir.” 

“ Here, let me try.” 

A faint light appeared at the window for a few mo- 
ments, and then there was a chinking sound as it 3 as 
darkened again, and Lady Gowan, as she stood panting 
there, dimly made out that a sword was thrust through, 
an arm followed, and she could hear the blade ring and 
scrape as it was used to feel for the fastenings, clicking 
loudly against the ironwork and the chain which hung 
at the side ready for hanging across the door, to pass 
over a spiral hook on the other side. 

This went on for a few minutes, when, as with an 
angry exclamation the officer who had thrust his arm 
through paused to rest, Lady Gowan stepped forward 
out of the darkness, went close to the door, bent down, 
and caught the ring at the end of the hanging chain, 
and raised it to hook it across and fasten it to secure 
the door. 

She hardly made a sound with foot or dress ; but as 
she drew the chain tight it chinked against the hook, 
and the officer heard her. 

“ Ha !” he shouted, with his face to the broken glass. 
“ I see you there. Open this door, or ” 

Click, click went the chain into its place, and, raising 
the blade of his sword, the officer made a sweeping 
blow at the brave woman, which struck her on the 
shoulder as she drew back. 

” Now,” he roared, “ will you open ?” 

The answer was a faint rustling, as Lady Gowan 
drew back into the dark part of the hall, fortunately 
unhurt, for the arm which wielded the sword was the 
left, and thoroughly crippled by its owner’s posi- 
tion. 

” Lucky for you I didn’t give point,” he muttered. 


LADY GOWAN AT BAY. 


r 79 


Then aloud : “ Once more, in the King’s name, open 
this door !” 

“ I’d die first,” said Lady Gowan to herself ; and she 
stood close to the foot of the great staircase listening, 
and hardly daring to breathe, as she strained her ears 
to catch some sound of what might be going on upstairs, 
hr wildly dilated eyes fixed the while on the slips of 
windows on either side of the door. But from within 
the house all she could hear was a low sobbing from 
the housekeeper’s room below, and the murmur of her. 
old servant’s voice as she tried to calm the hysterical 
girl who was nearly crazy with terror. 

But her attention was taken up directly by the voices 
outside, which came plainly to her through the broken 
windows. 

“ Well ?” said the officer sharply ; and she knew by 
the reply that one of the men must have climbed the 
iron railings and been down into the area. 

“ Both windows covered with big iron bars, sir, and 
the door seems a reg’lar thick ’un.” 

” How long will th^y be getting back, sergeant, with 
the hammer and crowbars ?” 

“ ’Nother ten minutes or quarter-hour, sir.” 

” Bah ! Well, run round to the back, and tell them 
to keep a sharp look-out. See that the men are well 
awake at the end of the street, and keep two more ready 
back and front to stop every one who comes out of the 
houses in case he tries to escape by the roof.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“If any one appears on the roof, and does not sur- 
render, fire.” 

The sergeant’s heavy paces were heard going along 
the pavement, every step seeming to crush down Lady 
Gowan’s heart, as her head swam, and in imagination 
she saw the flash of the soldiers’ muskets, and then 
heard the heavy fall of one for whom she would have 
gladly died. 

Her hand went out to catch at the bottom pillar of 


180 IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 

the balustrade, and she stood swaying to and fro in the 
darkness, struggling hard to master the terrible sensa- 
tion of faintness which came over her. 

It soon passed off, for the thought came to her that 
she must be firm. She was doing nothing to help her 
husband ; but he had bidden her keep watch there over 
that door, and guard it against danger from within, and 
as a soldier’s wife she would have died sooner than 
neglect the duty with which he had intrusted her. For 
how did she know what pressure might be brought to 
bear upon the weak woman below ? The soldiery had 
been into the area, where there were only the glass 
windows between, and a broken pane would form an 
easy way for passage of threats. If bidden to open in 
the King’s name, what might they not do ? Ah, she 
must guard against that, and with her nerves newly 
strung, she stood listening for a few moments to the 
buzz of voices outside, and then, feeling that it was im- 
possible for danger to assail them without warning from 
the front door, she went to the head of the stairs which 
led down into the basement. 

“ In the King’s name !” she said softly. “ Robert is 
my king, and I can obey none other.” 

She was herself again now — the quick, eager, brave 
woman, ready to do anything to save her husband's 
life ; and gliding down the stairs she silently passed the 
open door of the housekeeper’s room, where she could 
hear the servant girl sobbing, and the old housekeeper 
trying to comfort her and then to comfort herself. 

The next minute, quite unheard, she was at the end 
of the stone passage where the big, heavy door opened 
into the area, and began passing her hand over bolt, 
bar, and lock, to find all fast ; and with a sigh of relief 
she was in the act of softly drawing out the big key, 
when a movement outside told her that a sentry had 
been placed at that door, and that the man must have 
heard the movement of the key. 

This made her pause, with her heart throbbing wildly ; 


LADY GOWAN AT BAY. 


181 


but in a minute or so she recovered herself, and almost 
by hairbreadths drew the great key slowly out with 
scarcely another sound, and crept back along the pas- 
sage once more, past the open doorway through which 
the light streamed, and then up the stairs, and back to 
her former position in the dark hall, feeling confident 
now that no one could pass into the house from below 
unheard. 

The voices of the soldiers came to her, and an angry 
inquiry or two from the -officer, who was getting out of 
patience. 

Have they gone to the smith’s to get the things 
made ?” he cried angrily. 

“ Well, sir, you see, it aren’t like muskets, or swords, 
or ammynition,” said the sergeant. “We don’t want 
pioneering tools every day.’’ 

“ But they ought to be ready for use at a moment’s 
notice.’’ 

“ So they are,’’ grumbled the sergeant to himself ; 
“ but you’ve got to get to ’em first.’’ 

And now it appeared to Lady Gowan that an hour 
passed slowly away, without news of what was passing 
upstairs, and her agony seemed to be more than she 
could bear. Every sense had been on the strain, as she 
stood in trembling expectancy of hearing a shot fired — 
a shot that she knew would be at the life of her boy’s 
father ; but the sluggish minutes crawled on, and still 
all was silent above, while outside she was constantly 
hearing little things which showed how thoroughly the 
soldiery were on the alert. 

She had not heard the officer speak for some time, 
and she divined that he must have gone round to the 
back of the house, where it faced the open Park ; but 
he would, she was sure, return soon, to give directions 
to the men who arrived with the tools for breaking in 
the door ; and when this was done, if Sir Robert had 
not found a way to escape, there would be bloodshed. 
Her husband would never surrender while he could 


i 82 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


grasp a sword, and Frank would be certain to draw in 
his father’s defence, and then 

Then Lady Gowan felt, as it were, an icy stab, which 
passed with a shock right through her ; for the thought 
suggested itself how easy it would be for the soldiers to 
get a short ladder into the garden front of the house, 
rear it against the balcony outside the drawing-room 
window, and force their way in there. No bars would 
trouble them, and the shutters would give but little 
resistance. Why had she not thought of that before ? 

And as she thoroughly grasped this weakness of their 
little fort in the rear she turned cold with horror, for 
there was a faint sound on the staircase behind her, and 
as at the same moment she heard the loud steps of ap- 
proaching men on the pavement outside a hand made a 
quick clutch from the darkness behind at her arm. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


FOR DEAR LIFE. 

“ \ T OW, Frank, my boy,” said Sir Robert, as the 

1 \| door closed on Lady Gowan, “they have us 
in front, and they have us in the rear. A fox, they say, 
always has two holes to the earth. A man is obliged to 
have a third way of escape if his enemies are too many 
for him, and I don’t want to fight with the King’s men 
for other reasons than that they belong to my old regi- 
ment.” 

“ Shall I light the candle again, father ?’* 

“ No, it will take too long, and I can do what I want 
in the dark. I’ve a rope here.” 

Frank heard his father unlock a cabinet, and his heart 
beat hopefully, when the next minute his father bade 
him “ take hold,” and he felt a thin, soft coil of rope 
passed into his hands. 

He needed no telling what was to follow, for he 
grasped the idea at once, and followed his father out of 
the room without a word. 

They paused on the staircase for a few moments, and 
heard the shivering of the glass and the stern summons 
for the door to be opened ; and then Sir Robert laid his 
hand upon his son’s shoulder. 

“ Seems cowardly, Frank, to try to escape, and leave 
a woman to bear the brunt of the encounter ; but I must 
play the fugitive now. I can’t afford to surrender ; the 
risks are too great. Come on. Your mother must not 
be disappointed after what she has done, and have to 
see me marched off.” 


184 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


Frank was astounded at his father’s coolness, but lie 
said nothing, and followed him quickly to the top of 
the house to where there was a trap-door in the ceiling 
over the passage leading to one of the attics. 

Without telling, Frank bent down and raised the 
light steps which were on one side of the passage, passed 
his arm through the coil of rope, went up the steps, and 
pushed open the trap-door, which fell back, leaving an 
opening for him to pass through into the false roof. 

Sir Robert followed, and a door formed like a dormer 
window in the slope of the roof was unbolted ready for 
him to step out on to the narrow leads. 

“ Now, Frank lad, give me the rope,” said Sir Robert 
in a low voice. “ Then follow me along by the para- 
pet. We need not crawl, for it will hide us from the 
soldiers if we lean inward and keep one hand on the 
sloping slates.’ ’ 

‘‘Yes, I understand,” said Frank ; “ you mean to go 
along the roofs right to the end.” 

“ Yes ; right.” 

“ And fasten the rope round a chimney stack ?” 

“ That’s quite right too ; and now listen. I shall not 
be able to talk to you out there. As soon as I am 
down, don’t stop to untie the rope ; it will be too tight 
from my weight. Cut it, and draw it up again quickly, 
then get back as you came, shut the door after you, and 
take down the steps before you join your mother. But 
you must do something with the rope.” 

“ Hide it ?” said Frank. 

“ It would be found, and I don’t want you or your 
mother to have the credit of helping me to escape.” 

“ Burn it in the kitchen fire ?” 

“ There will not be time. They will search the house. 
I cannot propose a way, only do something with it. 
Now good-bye.” 

“ Good bye ?” faltered Frank. 

“ Yes, while I can speak to you. Quick ! a soldier’s 
good-bye. That will do ; now out after me.” 


FOR DEAR LIFE. 


i*5 

Sir Robert’s “ good-bye” was a fiim grip of his son’s 
hand, and then he crept out on to the roof ; Frank fol- 
lowed him, his heart throbbing with excitement ; and 
as he stepped out he could hear voices do wrr below in 
the garden beneath the drawing-room windows. 

Frank shivered a little, for he felt sure that they 
would be seen against the sky, in spite of their precau- 
tion of leaning toward the sloping roof, and he fully 
expected to hear the report of muskets ; but the shiver 
was more due to excitement than fear. 

“ They would not be able to hit us on a night like 
this, while we are moving,” he said to himself ; and 
with a strange feeling of wild exhilaration, he followed 
the dark figure before him, climbing across the low 
walls which separated house from house, and finding it 
easy enough to walk along in the narrow pathlike space 
of leaded roof, which extended from the bottom of the 
slate slope to the low parapet with its stone coping, 
beyond which nothing was visible but the tops of the 
trees in the Park. 

They must have passed over the roofs of twenty 
houses before Sir Robert stopped ; and, as Frank crept 
up close to him, he put his lips to the boy’s ear. 

“ It’s a drop of ten feet to the next house,” he said. 
“ Must go down from here.” 

A sensation of dread did now attack Frank, as he 
thought of the descent of a heavy man by the frail 
rope. If it had been he who was to go down, it would 
have been different, and he would have felt no hesita- 
tion. 

Catching at his father’s arm, he whispered : 

“ Are you sure that it will bear you ?” 

“ Certain.” 

“ But the chimney stack ?” whispered Frank, as he 
could dimly make out that his father was uncoiling the 
rope, and he could see no place that would be suitable. 

“Hist! This is better.” 

Sir Robert was now kneeling down, and after being 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


1 86 

puzzled for a few moments Frank then made out that 
his father was passing one end of the rope through an 
opening at the corner of the parapet where the rain- 
water ran through a leaded shoot into the upright leaden 
stack-pipe which ran down the house and carried it into 
the drain. 

Frank dimly made out that he knotted the rope care- 
fully, and tried it by pulling hard twice over, before 
throwing a few yards over the parapet and letting the 
rest run through his hands till it was all down. 

His next movement puzzled the boy, but he grasped 
the meaning directly after. 

They were at an angle now, and Sir Robert was care- 
fully testing the stone coping, to see if it were tight in 
its place and the pieces held together by the iron clamps 
kept in their places by the running in of molten lead. 

Apparently satisfied, he turned quickly to where Frank 
stood, now trembling, grasped his hand, and whispered : 

“ Have you a knife ?” 

“ Yes, father.” 

“ Cut the rope, and get back as soon as you can. 
Don’t wait to listen whether I elude the men.” 

“ No, father.” 

Sir Robert stood holding his son’s hand for a few 
mpments, and listening to the murmur of voices at the 
back of his house, v/here the soldieis - were talking 
rather excitedly. 

“ For liberty and life, Frank !” whispered Sir Robert 
then ; and with the perspiration standing in great drops 
on the boy’s face, he saw his father giasp the rope 
knotted so tightly from the hole by the lead on which 
he stood over the stone coping, throw back his cloak, 
and then lay himself flat on the parapet, and carefully 
lower his feet as he held on by the stone. From that 
he lowered himself, and, partly supported by the top of 
the leaden stack-pipe, he slowly changed his right hand 
to the loop of the rope ; then softly gliding by the wide- 
open head of the pipe, he began to descend with the 


FOR DEAR LIFE. 


187 


rope well twined round his right leg, and held to the 
calf of his heavy boot by the edge of his left boot sole. 



“ ‘ For liberty and life , Frank / ’ whispered Sir Robert 


“ If the rope should break or come undone !” thought 
the boy, as he turned cold and dropped upon his knees 


i88 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


to reach over and grip the knot with both hands, while 
his lips moved as he muttered a prayer, feeling the thin 
cord quiver and jerk as if it were a strange nerve which 
connected him with his father, who was below there 
somewhere in the darkness — jar, thrill, and make a hum- 
ming noise like the string of some huge bass instrument, 
but so faint that it would have been inaudible at any 
other time. But he could hear plainly enough, without 
any exaltation of his senses, that the soldiers were talk- 
ing earnestly not a hundred yards away, their voices 
rising clearly to where the boy knelt. 

How long was it that he could feel that vibration of 
the cord which thrilled through him right to his toes, 
and made his hair feel as if it were being lifted from his 
scalp? Ten minutes — five minutes — a quarter of an 
hour ? Not many seconds, and then it stopped ; and 
the horror of feeling it suddenly slacken and hearing a 
heavy crashing fall did not assail the anxious boy, 
though he'had fully expected it. The vibration ceased, 
and there was a quick, warning shake, which Frank 
interpreted to mean a signal for him to remember his 
orders, and hasten back to the house. 

He would have liked to lean over, listening and strain- 
ing his sight to follow the further movements of his 
father ; but Sir Robert had, unconsciously to both, 
gradually disciplined his son into a prompt, soldierly 
way of instantly obeying orders, and directly that wave 
had passed up to him, Frank’s knife was out, and the 
rope, after a good deal of sawing, was cut through, the 
knife replaced, and the cord was rapidly drawn up, and 
laid down on the leads in a loose coil. 

He bent over then for a moment or two and listened, 
but all was still just below. There was no alarm such 
as he had dreaded, no shouting and firing of shots ; 
and gathering up the rope, he hurried back along the 
narrow leads, using the same precaution of leaning in- 
ward, passed from house to house quickly, and kept on 
asking himself what he should do to hide the rope. 


FOR DEAR LIFE. 


189 

No idea camq, and he had nearly reached home before 
it flashed across his brain, and he drew a breath of 
relief. 

There was a hiding-place just before him, at the top 
of the low ridge of the house two doors away from his 
own. A low chimney was smoking steadily, and with- 
out pausing to think whether it was wise or no he crept 
up the slates, reached the ridge, grasped the side of the 
chimney stack, and stood upright, finding that he could 
just reach the top of the smoking pot. 

That was enough. The next minute he had the end 
of the rope passed in ; and resting his wrists on the top 
of the pot, he drew and drew, rather slowly at first, but 
more and more rapidly as the descending end gained 
weight, and at last sufficed to run it down, and then it 
was gone. 

He slid down the slates, and, feeling relieved of an 
incubus, he reached their own house, glided in at the 
dormer, shut and bolted the door, descended through 
the trap, drawing it over him, went down the steps, laid 
them in their place, and, lastly, wondering whether he 
had soiled his hands with the black on the top of the 
house, he ran rapidly downstairs. 

As he ran he could hear the heavy tramp of the sol- 
diers in the street at the front, and when he reached the 
lower flights dimly made out the figure of his mother 
standing at the bottom step, and stretched out his hand 
and caught her arm. 

Lady Gowan uttered a cry of horror, and sprang for- 
ward into the hall, facing round to meet her invisible 
enemy ; but she uttered a faint sigh of relief as her 
arm was caught again, and she heard the familiar voice 
whisper : 

“ Hush ! hush ! mother.” 

“ Ah !” she whispered back. “ Your father ?” 

Frank’s answer was drowned by a thunderous blow 
delivered with a sledge-hammer upon the door close to 
the lock, and this was followed by another and another, 


190 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


which raised echoes up the staircase, and brought a 
series of hysterical shrieks from the housekeeper’s 
room. 

But Lady Gowan paid no heed to either. She caught 
her son by the arms, and drew him farther from the 
door, placed her lips to his ear, and whispered in an 
agonised tone : 

“ Your father ? — speak !” 

“ Got down safe, and gone,” whispered back Frank ; 
and as his mother clung to him a strange thrill of elation 
ran through his nerves, making him feel that he was 
engaged in an adventure full of delirious joy. He felt 
that he must shout and cheer to get rid of the intense 
excitement which made his blood bubble in his veins, 
and he was ready for any mad display in what was like 
playing some wonderful game, in which, after a desper- 
ate struggle, his side was winning. 

“ Let them hammer and bang down the door, mother. 
The idiots ! they are giving him time to get safe away. 
Oh the fools, the fools ! Shall I go and speak to them ?” 

” No, no,” whispered Lady Gowan, speaking with 
her lips once more to her boy’s ear, for the noise made 
was deafening. “ Let them take time to break in, and 
then we must parley with them, and let them suspect us 
and make a regular search. They will waste nearly an 
hour, Frank.” 

“ Of course they will,” cried the boy joyously ; “ but, 
I say, mother, we're not going to put up with this ; you 
know I’m not going to have you insulted by these 
people breaking into the house. I shall show fight.” 

“ No, no, don’t do anything imprudent, Frank. We 
must assume that we took them for a ruffianly mob who 
tried to break in.” 

“ But they said, ‘ In the King’s name,’ mother,” said 
the boy dubiously. 

“ And we would not believe them, my boy. Frank, 
Frank, it is horrible to incite you to prevaricate and 
dally with the truth, but it is to save your father’s life. 


FOR DEAR LIFE. 


191 

Be silent. On my head be the sin, and I will speak and 
bear it.” 

The crashing of the woodwork went on beneath the 
blows, and the murmur that rose like a low, deep accom- 
paniment outside told that a crowd had collected, and 
were being kept back by the soldiery. 

“ This way, Frank,” cried Lady Gowan ; and she 
drew her son after her to the head of the basement steps, 
where she called aloud to the housekeeper, who came 
hurrying up, candle in hand, to where mother and son 
stood. 

The old woman looked ghastly, and Frank could hear 
a strange sobbing from below, in spite of the noise at 
the front, which was partly deadened from where they 
stood. 

“ Master, my lady ?” cried the woman wildly. 

•“ Safe — escaped, Berry,” said Lady Gowan, in a voice 
full of exultation. 

‘‘Safe — escaped, my lady !” cried the woman, with 
the light of exultation rising now in her countenance. 
“ Then let them batter the house down, the wretches. 
I don’t care now.” 

“ But, Berry, listen. Sir Robert is out of their reach 
by now ; but they must not know that he has been 
here.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha !” laughed the woman wildly ; “ they 
won’t get anything out of me. What ! me tell ’em that 
my dear young master, whom I nursed when he wasn’t 
half the size of Master Frank — tell ’em he has been 
here ! I’d sooner have my tongue cut out.” 

“ But the girl — the girl ?” 

‘‘What her, my lady?” said the housekeeper con- 
temptuously. ‘‘Oh, they’ll get nothing out of her to- 
night but shrieks, and nothing now, for she’s shruck 
herself hoarse and speechless.” 

“ Ah !” sighed Lady Gowan, “ then now I can feel 
at rest. Come up, Frank.” 

She led the way to the staircase, and hurried on to 


192 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


the drawing-room, with the massive front door being 
broken piecemeal by the heavy sledge-hammer ; but 
each chain and bolt still held, and there was no way in 
yet but for light and noise, so that, before they gave 
way, Frank had time to get a light and ignite the candles 
in two sets of branches in the drawing-room which they 
had entered and then fastened the door. 

This done, he turned in surprise, to see that his mother 
had thrown back her hood, rearranged her hair, and 
was standing there before him flushed, but proud and 
perfectly calm. 

“ Oh, mother !” he cried, stepping up to her and kiss- 
ing her. “ I can’t help it. Drew is right. I am so 
proud of you.” 

“ Are you ?” she said, smiling, as she returned his 
kiss, and her look said that the pride was reciprocal. 

They gazed in each other’s eyes for a few moments, 
as if deaf to the sounds below-stairs, which told that the 
soldiers had at last gained an entrance. 

Then a change came over Lady Gowan’s face, her 
upper lip curled, and a look of haughty scorn shone 
from her eyes. 

“ They are coming up, my boy,” she cried. “ Leave 
me to speak.” 

For answer Frank drew his sword, caught up the 
silver branch with its three candles from the table, and 
took a couple of strides in front of his mother toward 
the door, as it was dashed open when, sword in hand, 
followed by half a dozen men with fixed bayonets, the 
officer in command rushed in. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


SAVED ! 

“ T T ERE, how dare you !” shouted Frank angrily ; 

JLI and, in utter astonishment, the officer stopped 
short, and lowered the sword he had fully expected to 
use, while the men threw up their bayonets and stood 
fast. “ I don’t know you, but you belong to the 
Guards, I suppose, and ” 

“ Silence, Frank ! Let me speak/’ said Lady Gowan, 
without a tremor in her voice. “ Then you are not an 
armed mob of rioters. Pray, what does this outrage 
mean ?” 

“ I ask your pardon, Lady Gowan,” said the young 
officer, recovering himself ; “ it is a painful act of duty.” 

‘‘To break into my house, sir !” said Lady Gowan 
haughtily, while her son felt more than ever that he 
was engaged in some madly exciting game. 

“ I was refused entrance, after repeatedly demanding 
it in the King’s name.” 

“ In the King’s name !” cried Lady Gowan scorn- 
fully. *‘ How were I, my son, or my servants to know 
that this was not the excuse made by one of the riotous 
Jacobite bands to obtain entrance and plunder my 
home ?” 

“ I cannot help fulfilling my duty, Lady Gowan,” 
said the young officer respectfully. “ I must proceed 
to the arrest.” 

‘‘Arrest?” cried Lady Gowan hurriedly. ‘‘Oh, 
Frank ! But surely — ah, I will speak to the Princess. 
Such a trivial act — a thoughtless boy. Arrest him for 


194 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


absenting himself without leave — to meet his mother — 
at his own home ?” 

“ Your ladyship must be trifling with me,” said the 
officer sternly, “and I cannot be played with. Infor- 
mation was brought to the Palace that Sir Robert 
Gowan is here, and at all costs my orders are to arrest 
him. I beg that you will tell him to surrender at once.” 

“ Go back to those who sent you, sir, and tell them 
that Sir Robert Gowan is not here.” 

“ Then where is he, madam ?” 

“You have no right to question me, sir,” said Lady 
Gowan haughtily ; “ but, to end this interview, I will 
answer your question. I do not know.” 

“Your ladyship tells me that?’’ cried the officer 
quickly. 

“ I refuse to be questioned by you, sir,” said Lady 
Gowan with dignity. “You are in the King’s Guards ; 
you have a duty to perform. I am helpless at this mo- 
ment. Pray do it, and go. But I insist, in the name 
of the lady whom I have the honour to serve, that you 
do not go without leaving a proper guard to protect 
this house from pillage by the mob outside.” 

The officer looked puzzled and confused for a moment 
or two, and then he spoke again sharply. 

“ I am bound to take your ladyship’s word,” he said ; 
“ but you know !” he cried, turning suddenly upon 
Frank, and so fiercely intended as to throw him off his 
guard. “ Come, sir ; it is of no use to prevaricate. 
Where is Sir Robert ?” 

But Frank was as firm as his mother, and he met the 
young officer’s eyes without flinching. 

“Where is my father?” he said quietly. “I don’t 
know, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you.” 

A flush of anger suffused the young Guardsman’s face ; 
but the boy’s manner touched him home, and the anger 
passed away in a laugh. 

“ Well,” he said, “ that’s not a bad answer. Unfor- 
tunately, young gentleman, I can’t be satisfied with it. 


SAVED ! 


i95 


— Lady Gowan, I regret having this duty placed in my 
hands to carry out, but I must perform it. I am com- 
pelled to disbelieve you and your son, and search the 
house.” 

“ Do your duty then, sir,” said Lady Gowan coldly ; 
“ but I cannot stay here to submit to the insult. I in- 
sist upon my house being protected.” 

“ My men are at the door, madam, and no one will 
be allowed to pass. I answer for the place being safe.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Lady Gowan courteously. 
“ I do not blame you for all this. I presume my son 
and I can pass your men ?” 

“ Of course, madam,” said the officer ; and his man- 
ner changed, for these words impressed him more than 
any denial that Sir Robert was there. “ I thank you 
for going, though,” he said, recovering his composure. 
“ You relieve me from the painful duty of arresting Sir 
Robert in your presence.” 

Lady Gowan smiled, and drew her hood over her 
head. 

“Come, Frank,” she said; “see me back to the 
Palace ; you will not need your sword.” 

The officer took up the silver branch Frank had set 
down, and as the boy returned his sword to its sheath, 
and his mother took his arm, the officer preceded them, 
and lit them down the stairs, where Lady Gowan stopped 
in the splinter-strewn hall to speak to the housekeeper. 

“ See, Berry,” she said quietly,” that this gentleman 
and his men have every opportunity for searching the 
house. A rumour has been carried to the Palace that 
Sir Robert is here. When they have done, men will be 
placed as sentries to guard the place. In the morning 
send for the workmen to see that a new door is placed 
there, and to do first what is necessary to board this 
one up.” 

“ Yes, my lady,” said the housekeeper quietly. 

The next minute Lady Gowan and her son passed out 
of the house with a corporal and four men to escort 


196 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


them back to the Palace, the crowd making way for the 
armed men, while the officer returned to the hall, and 
looked at the sergeant fixedly. 

“ Gone ?” said the officer. 

“ Yes, sir. Bird’s flown,” replied the sergeant. 

“ Well, search from top to bottom, from cellar to 
leads. That’s the way he must have gone.” 

“If it wasn’t a false alarm, sir,” said the man re- 
spectfully. “ I never had much faith in any spies.” 

“Be on your guard ; he may be here,” said the 
officer. “ Now search.” 

The sergeant went off promptly with his men, mut- 
tering to himself : 

“ And nobody’s better pleased than me. Nicely we 
should have been groaned at if we had found him. 
That is, if we had taken him ; but he’d have fought like 
the man he is. Well, I’m glad he’s gone.” 

“ Saved, Frank, saved !” whispered Lady Gowan, as 
they parted on reaching the Palace. 

“ Yes, mother, saved. Oh, don’t look like that !” 

She kissed him hurriedly, and entered her apartment, 
to hurry thence to the Princess’s chamber ; while Frank 
made for his own, with his head feeling as if it were 
full of buzzing sounds, and ready to ask himself if all 
that he had gone through was not part of a feverish 
dream. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS. 

T HE news was all over the Palace the next morn- 
ing ; but before meeting Andrew Forbes, Frank 
hurried to his mother’s apartments, to find her dressed, 
but lying down, her maid saying that she was very ill, 
but that she would see Mr. Gowan. 

“ I thought you would come, my boy,” said Lady 
Gowan, embracing him. “ Oh, my darling, what a 
horrible night ! Tell me again all about your father’s 
escape.” 

“ You’re not well enough, mother,” said the boy 
bluntly. “ It will only agitate you more. Isn’t it 
enough that I helped him to get safe away without any 
accident ?” 

“ Yes, yes, you are right,” said Lady Gowan. “ But 
how rash, how mad of him to come ! Frank, remember 
that you must not breathe a word about how it was 
that I was able to warn him.” 

“ I see,” said Frank ; “ it would make mischief.” 

“ And this has undone all that I was trying to do. 
He might have been forgiven in time ; now we shall 
have to wait perhaps for years.” 

“Then don’t let’s wait, mother. He says that. we 
should have to suffer terribly if we shared his lot with 
him. But who cares ? I shouldn’t a bit, and I’m sure 
you wouldn’t mind.” 

“I, my boy?” cried Lady Gowan passionately. 
“ I’d gladly lead the humblest life with h.m, so that we 
could be at peace.” 


198 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Very well, then ; let’s go.” 

Lady Gowan shook her head. 

“ We must respect your father’s wishes, Frank,” she 
said sadly. “ No ; we must stay as we are till we are 
ordered to leave here, or your father bids us come.” 

“ There,” said the boy, “ I was right. You must not 
talk about it any more ; it only makes you cry. Never 
mind what happened last night. He has got safely 
away.” 

“ But if he should venture again, my boy,” sobbed 
Lady Gowan. 

“ Never mind about ifs , mother. Of course he longed 
to see us, and he ran the risk, so as to be near. I should 
have done the same, if I had been like he is. There, 
now you lie still and read all day. He won’t run any 
more risks, so as not to frighten you. I must go now.” 

Lady Gowan clung to her son for a few minutes, and 
then he hurried away, to find Andrew Forbes in the 
courtyard. 

“ Ah, I was right !” he said. “ I went to your rooms, 
thinking I should catch you ; but you were up and off. 
I thought this would be where you had come. But, I 
say, I thought we were friends.” 

“ Well, so we are.” 

“ Don’t seem like it, for you to go and have a jolly 
night of adventures like that, and leave me out in the 
cold.” 

“ I couldn’t help it, Drew,” said Frank apologetically. 

“ Yes, you could. I smell a rat now. I thought you 
turned very queer when we were by your house yestei- 
day. Then you saw him at one of the windows ?” 

Frank looked at him frowningly, and then nodded his 
head. 

“ And never told me ! Well, this is being a friend ! 
I would have trusted you. But, I say, it was grand. 
I’ve just seen Captain Murray and the doctor. They 
were together in the captain’s room. They wouldn’t 
say so, of course, but they were delighted to hear he 


MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS. 


199 


got away ; though they say they wouldn’t wonder if 
you were dismissed.” 

“ I don’t care, if my mother has to leave too.” 

“Ah ! but the Princess wouldn’t let her go. I say, 
how do you feel now ?” 

” Very miserable,” said Frank sadly. 

“ Nonsense ! You mean not so precious loyal as you 
were.” 

“ If you are going to begin about that business again, 
I am going,” said Frank coldly. 

‘‘ I’ve done. I’m satisfied. You’ll be as eager on 
the other side some day, Frank ; and I like you all the 
better for being so staunch as you are. As my father 
says, it makes you the better worth winning.” 

‘‘When did your father say that?” ciied Frank 
sharply. 

“ Never mind. Perhaps he wrote it to me. You 
can’t expect me to be quite open with you if you’re not 
with me. But, I say,” cried the lad enthusiastically, 
“ it’s grand !” 

“ What is ?” 

“ For us to be both with our fathers banished. Why, 
Frank, it’s like making heroes of us.” 

“ Making geese of us ! What nonsense !” 

“ Just as you like ; but I shall feel what I please. I 
never did see such a fellow as you are, though. You 
have no more romance in you than a big drum. But, 
I say, tell us all about it.” 

With a little pressing Frank told him all, the narra- 
tive being given, in an undertone, and after a faithful 
promise of secrecy, on one of the benches under a tree 
in the Park, while Andrew sat with his fingers interlaced 
and nipped between his knees, flushed of face, his eyes 
flashing, and his teeth set. 

‘‘Oh,” he cried at last, ‘‘I wish I had been there, 
and it had come to a fight.” 

“ What good would that have done ?” said Frank. 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; but what a night ! It was glori- 


200 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


ous ! And to think that all the while I was moping 
alone over a stupid book, while you were enjoying your- 
self like that.” 

“ Enjoying myself !” cried Frank scornfully. 

“ Yes, enjoying yourself. There, with your sword 
out, defending your beautiful mother from the Guards, 
after saving your father’s life, and keeping the castle — 
house, I mean — against the men who were battering 
down the gate — door . 5 

“ Well,” said Frank drily, “ if I have no more romance 
in me than there is in a big drum, you have,” 

“ I should think I have !” cried the lad, whose hand- 
some, effeminate face was scarlet with his excitement. 
“ Why, you cold-blooded, stony-hearted old country- 
man, can’t you see that you were doing man’s work, 
and having glorious adventures ?” 

“ No ; only that it was very horrible,” said Frank, 
with his brow all in lines. 

“ Bah ! I don’t believe you felt like that. What a 
chance ! What a time to have ! All the luck coming 
to you, and I ? m obliged to lead the life of a palace lap- 
dog, when I want to be a soldier fighting for my king.” 

“ Wait till you get older,” said Frank. ‘‘I wanted 
to be a man last night.” 

“ Why, you were a man. It was splendid !” cried 
Andrew enthusiastically. 

“ I wasn’t a man, and it wasn’t splendid,” said Frank 
sadly. ” I felt all right then ; but when I woke this 
morning, I seemed to see myself standing there in our 
drawing-room, with my sword in one hand and the big 
silver candlestick in the other, and I felt that I must 
have looked very ridiculous, and that the young officer 
and the men with him must have laughed at me.” 

“ Er — r — rr !” growled Andrew ; “I haven’t patience 
with you, Franky. You’re too modest by half — modest 
as a great girl. No, you’re not ; no girl could have be- 
haved like you did. I only wish I had had the chance 
to be there. Ridiculous indeed ! Very ridiculous to 


MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS. 


201 


help your father to escape as you did, ’pon my honour. 
Oh yes, very ridiculous ! I want to be as ridiculous as 
that every day of my life ; and if it isn’t playing the 
man ” 

“Yes, that’s it,’’ said Frank gloomily,— “ playing 
the man, when one’s only a boy.’’ 

“ Bah ! Hold your tongue, stupid. You don’t know 
yet what you did do. But, I say, that was ridiculous, 
if you like.’’ 

“ What was.?’’ said Frank, starting. 

“ Climbing up the roof to hide the rope, and stuffing 
it down the next-door chimney. I say : I wonder what 
the people thought.’’ 

Frank smiled now. 

“ Well, that does seem comic.’’ 

“ It was glorious. But they’ll never know. They’ll 
think the sweeps must have left it when the chimney 
was last swept. But I suppose you’ve heard about 
Lieutenant Brayley’s report ?’’ 

“No, not a word. I went as soon as I was dressed 
to see how my mother was.’’ 

“ Oh, I heard from Murray. He reported that it was 
a false alarm, and that Sir Robert could not have been 
there, for he had the house well watched back and 
front, and all the approaches to the houses adjoining. 
Oh, I do enjoy getting the better of the other side. 
And, I say, every one’s delighted that he escaped, if he 
was there ; but I hope he won’t get taken. Tell him to 
mind, Franky, for every place swarms with spies, and 
that it’s next to impossible to get out of the coun- 
try. Oh, I wouldn’t have him taken for all the 
world.” 

“ Thank ye,” said Frank warmly ; “ but how am I to 
tell him that ?” 

Andrew turned and gave his companion a peculiar 
smiling look. 

“Of course,” he said merrily, “how can you tell 
him ? He did not tell you how to write to him — oh, 


202 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


no ; nor where to find the letters he sent to you. Oh, 
no ; he wouldn’t do that. Not at all likely, is it ?” 

Frank turned white. 

“ How did you know that ?” he said hoarsely. 

“ Because I’m rowing in the same boat, Franky. 
Why, of course he did. Now, didn’t he ?” 

The boy nodded. 

“ So did my father of course. There, I’m going to 
thoroughly trust you, if you don’t me. I'd trust you 
with anything, because I can feel that you couldn’t go 
wrong. I don’t want you to tell me where your father 
told you to write, or what name he is going to take, or 
how you are to get his letters, for of course he couldn’t 
write to the Palace. But he told you how to communi- 
cate with him, I do know, Frank. It was a matter of 
course with your father like that. I say, what do you 
think of a tin box in a hollow tree in the Park, where 
you can bury it in the touchwood when you go to feed 
the ducks ?” 

“ That would be a good way of course,” said Frank ; 
“ but no, it isn’t like that.” 

“ What, for you and your father ? Who said it was ? 
I meant for me and mine.” 

“What! Feed the ducks! Drew!” cried Frank 
excitedly. 

* ‘ Yes ; what’s the matter ?” 

“ Feed the ducks ?” 

“ Yes, feed the ducks !” 

“You don’t mean to tell me that — that ” 

“ Mr. George Selby is my father ? Of course I do.” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated Frank in astonishment. 

“ Isn’t it fine ?” cried Andrew. “ He comes and 
feeds the ducks — his Majesty King George’s ducks — and 
the precious spies stand and watch him ; and sometimes 
he has a chance to see me, and sometimes he hasn’t, 
and then he leaves a note for me in the old tree, for he 
says it’s the only pleasure he has in his solitary exiled 
life.” 


MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS. 


203 


“ Oh, Drew !” cried Frank warmly. 

“ Yes, poor old chap. I’m not worth thinking about 
so much, only I suppose I’m something like what poor 
mother was, and he likes it, or he wouldn’t leave all his 
plots and plans for getting poor James Francis on the 
throne to come risking arrest. They’d make short work 
of him, Frank, if they knew — head shorter. I shall tell 
him I’ve told you. But I know what he’ll say.” 

“ That you were much to blame,” said Frank eagerly. 

“ Not he. He’ll trust you, as I do. He likes you, 
Frank. He told me he liked you all the better for being 
so true to your principles, and that he was very glad to 
find that I had made friends with you. There, now you 
can tell me as much as you like. Nothing at all, if you 
think proper ; but I shall trust you as much as you’ll 
let me, my lad. There it’s time to go in. I want to 
hear more about what they’re doing. As they know 
that your father has been seen, they’ll be more strict 
than ever. But let’s go round by your old house.” 

“ No, no,” said Frank, with a shudder. 

“ Better go. — Come, don’t shiver like that. You 
were a man last night ; be one now.” 

“ Come along then,” said Frank firmly ; and they 
walked sharply round by the end of the canal, and back 
along the opposite side toward Westminster, passing 
several people on the way, early as the hour was. 

“ Don’t seem to notice any one,” said Andrew ; “ and 
walk carelessly and openly, just as if you were going — 
as we are — to look at your old house where the adven- 
ture was.” 

“ Why ?” 

“ Because several of the people we pass will be spies. 
I don’t want to put you all in a fidget ; but neither you 
nor your mother will be able to stir now without being 
watched.” 

“ Do you think so ?” said Frank, who felt startled. 

“ Sure of it. There, that’s doing just what 1 told 
you not to do, opening your mouth like a bumpkin for 


204 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


the flies to jump down your throat, and making your 
eyes look dark all round like two burnt holes in a 
blanket. Come along. You mustn’t mind anything 
now. I don’t : I’m used to it. Let ’em see that you 
don’t care a rush, and that they may watch you as much 
as they please. Now don’t say anything to me, only 
walk by me, and we’ll go by the Park front of your 
place. I want to have a quiet staie at the tops of the 
houses and at the corner where your father slipped 
down the rope.” 

Frank obeyed his companion, and they walked on, 
seeing no one in particular, save an elderly man with a 
very bad cough, who stopped from time to time to rest 
upon his crutch-handled stick, and indulge in a long 
burst of coughing, interspersing it with a great many 
“ Oh dears !” and groans. They left him behind, as 
they passed the last tall house, where Frank shuddered 
as he saw the upright leaden stack, the hole in the para- 
pet, where the rope was tied, and the garden beneath. 

The boy turned hot as he went over the whole adven- 
ture again and thought the same thoughts. Then he 
glanced sharply through the iron railings in search of 
footmarks, but saw none, for Andrew uttered a warning 
“ Take care,” and he looked straight before him again 
as he went out by the Park gate, and turned back and 
through the streets till they reached the front of the 
house, where men were nailing up boards, and a couple 
of soldiers stood on duty, marching up and down, as if 
some royal personage were within. 

Frank glanced at the workmen, and would have in- 
creased his pace, but Andrew had hold of his arm and 
kept him back. 

“ Don’t hurry,” he said quietly ; and then lightly to 
one of the sentries, ” Got some prisoners inside, my 
man ?” 

The sentry grinned, and gave his head a sidewise nod 
toward Frank. 

” Ask this young gentleman, sir ; he knows.” 


MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS. 


205 


Frank flushed scarlet, as he turned sharply to the 
man, whom he now recognised as one of the Guards 
who entered the drawing-room with the officer. 

“ Ah, to be sure,” said Andrew coolly ; and nodding 
carelessly, he went on and out by the gate into the Park 
at the end of the street, where the old man they had 
previously seen was holding on by the railings coughing 
violently. 

Poor old gentleman !” said Andrew sarcastically, 
but loud enough for him to hear ; “he seems to be 
suffering a good deal from that cough.” 

The man bent his head lower till his brow rested on 
the hand which held on by the railings, and coughed 
more than ever. 

“ You needn’t have made remarks about him,” whis- 
pered Frank. “ I’m afraid he heard what you 
said. ” 

“ I meant him to hear,” said Andrew loudly ; and he 
stopped and looked back directly. “ A miserable, con- 
temptible impostor. I could cure his wretched cough 
in two minutes with that stick he leans on.” 

The man started as if he had received a blow, and 
raised his head to glare fiercely at the youth, who was 
looking him superciliously up and down. 

“ Look at him, Frank,” continued Andrew ; “ did 
you ever see such a miserable, hangdog-looking cur ?” 

Frank felt in agony, and gripped his companion by 
the arm. 

“Did you mean that to insult me, boy?” said the 
man angrily. 

“ Done it without the stick,” said Andrew, not ap- 
pearing to notice the man’s words. “You see a good 
lash from the tongue was enough. Now, can you im- 
agine it possible that any one could sink so low as to 
earn his living by watching his fellow-creatures, spying 
their every act, and then betraying them for the sake of 
a few dirty shillings, to send them to prison or to the 
gibbet ? There can be nothing on earth so base as a 


20 6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


thing like this. Why, a footpad is a nobleman com- 
pared to him.” 

“ You insolent young puppy !” cried the man ; and 
entirely forgetful of his infirmity, he took three or four 
paces toward them, with his stick raised to strike. 

Frank’s hand darted to his sword, but Andrew did 
not stir. He stood with his lids half closed and his lips 
compressed, staring firmly at his would-be assailant, 
never flinching for a moment, nor removing his eyes 
from those which literally glowed with anger. 

” The cough’s gone, Frank, and the disguise might 
as well go with it. He is not an invalid, but one of the 
vile, treacherous ruffians in the pay of the Government. 
Let your blade alone ; he daren’t strike, for fear of hav- 
ing a sword through his miserable carcass. He was 
dressed as a sailor the other day, and he looked as if he 
had never had a foot at sea. He has been hanging 
about the Park for the past month. Pah ! look at the 
contemptible worm.” 

The miserable spy and informer, who had remained 
with his stick raised, turned white with passion, as he 
stood listening to the lad’s scathing words, and had 
either of the boys flinched he might have struck at 
them. As it was, he uttered a fierce imprecation, let the 
point of his stick drop to the ground, and turned away 
to hobble for a few steps, and, as if from habit, began 
to cough ; but Andrew burst into a bitter laugh, and 
with a fierce oath the man turned again and shook his 
stick at him before ceasing his cough and walking 
sharply away, erect and vigorous as any. 

“ Well,” said Andrew, “ do you think I insulted him 
too much ?” 

“ Why, he is an impostor !” 

“ Pah ! London swarms with his kind. They have 
sent many a good, true, and innocent man to Tyburn 
for the sake of blood-money — men whose only fault was 
that they believed James Francis to be our rightful 
king. Frank,” cried the lad passionately, “ I can’t tell 


MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS. 


207 


you how I loathe the reptiles. I knew that wretch 
directly ; my father pointed him out to me as one to 
beware of. If he knew what we do, he would send my 
dear, brave father to the scaffold, and he is trying hard 
to send yours. Where’s your pity for the poor invalid 
now ?” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated Frank excitedly, “ can such things 
be true ?’ ’ 

“ True ? Why was he dogging us this morning ? I 
can’t be sure, of course ; but as likely as not it was 
upon his information that your poor father was almost 
taken last night, and your mother nearly broken-hearted 
this morning. Why, Frank, I never saw you look so 
fierce before. It’s all nonsense about my being two 
years old than you. You’ve overtaken and passed me, 
lad. I’m getting quite afraid of you.” 

“ Oh, don’t banter me now, Drew. I can’t bear it.” 

“ It’s only my spiteful tongue, Frank. I don’t ban- 
ter you at heart. I’m in earnest. Only a short time 
ago I used to think I was old as a man, and it was 
trouble about my father made me so. Now I can’t 
help seeing how trouble is altering you too. Don’t 
mind what I say, but I must say it. Some day you’ll 
begin to think that I am not so much to blame for talk- 
ing as I do about our royal master.” 

Frank drew a long, deep breath, and felt as if it might 
after all be possible. 

“ There, that’s enough for one morning,” cried An- 
drew merrily. “ We’re only boys after all, even if I am 
such a queer fish. Let’s be boys again now. What do 
you say ? I’ll race you round the end of the canal, and 
see who can get in first to breakfast.” 

“No,” said Frank; “I want to walk back quietly 
and think.” 

“ And I don’t mean to let you. There, we’ve had 
trouble enough before breakfast. Let’s put it aside, 
and if we can get away go and see the Horse Guards 
parade, and then listen to the band and see some of the 


208 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


drilling. I want to learn all I can about an officer’s 
duty, so as not to be like a raw recruit when I get my 
commission, if I ever do. I say : hungry ?” 

“I? No.” 

“ Then you must be. Make a good breakfast, lad. 
Sir Robert’s safe enough by now, and he’ll be more 
cautious in future about coming amongst his Majesty’s 
springes and mantraps. Look yonder ; there’s Captain 
Murray. Who’s that with him ?” 

“ The doctor.” 

“ So it is. Let’s go and talk to them.” 

” No ; let them go by before we start for the gate. 
I feel as if every one will be knowing about last night, 
and want to question me. I wish I cftuld go away till 
it has all blown over.” 

” But you can’t, Frank ; and you must face it out 
like a man. I say ” 

“ Well ?” 

” You’re not likely to see the King, and if you did 
it’s a chance if he’d know who you are ; but you’re sure 
to see the Prince, and I am a bit anxious to know 
whether he’ll take any notice about what his page did 
last night, and if he does what he’ll say.” 

“I’m pretty well sure to see him this afternoon,” said 
Frank gloomily ; “ and if he questions me I can’t tell 
him a lie. What shall I say ?” 

” I’ll tell you,” said Andrew merrily. 

“Yes? What?” 

“ Say nothing. He can’t make you speak.” 

“ Then he’ll be angry, and it will be fresh trouble for 
my mother.” 

“ I don’t believe he will be,” said Andrew. ” Well, 
don’t spoil your breakfast about something which may 
never happen. Wait and see. The worst he could do 
would be to have you dismissed ; and if he does he’ll 
dismiss me too, for I shan’t stop here, Frank, unless my 
father says I must.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


WITH PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 



RANK thought over his companion’s proposals for 


JL spending such time as they could get away from 
duty, and soon after breakfast said what he thought. 

“ Every one seems to know about it,” he said mourn- 
fully. “ It’s wonderful what an excitement it has 


caused. 


“ Not a bit. Every one knows Lady Gowan and her 
son, and how Sir Robert was sent out of the country on 
account of that duel in the Park ; so of course they talk 
about it.” 

“ But wherever we go we shall be meeting people who 
will want to question me.” 

“ Yes,” said Andrew quietly. ** I’ve been thinking 
the same. It’s a great nuisance, for I wanted to go 
soldiering to-day.” 

“ There’s nothing to prevent you going.” 

“ Yes, there is — you. I’m not going without you go 


too.” 


“ But, Drew ” 

“ There, don’t say any more about it,” said the lad 
warmly. “ I know. It wouldn’t be pleasant for you to 
go, so you stay in, and we’ll read or talk.” 

“ But I don’t like to force you to give up.” 

“ Not going to force me. I’m going to stay because 
I like it, and keep you company, and stop people from 
talking to you.” 

Frank said little, but he thought a great deal, and the 
most about how, in spite of his old belief that he should 


210 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


never thoroughly care for his fellow-page, the tie of 
sympathy between them from the similarity of their 
positions was growing stronger every day. 

As it happened they did not lose much, for they found 
that they would have to be a good deal on duty, and 
the consequence was that much of the early part of the 
day was spent in the antechamber to help usher in quite 
a long string of gentlemen, who wished for an audience 
with the Prince. 

In the afternoon, just as Frank was longing for his 
freedom so that he might go and inquire how Lady 
Gowan was, he received a sharp nudge from Andrew, 
and turned quickly, to find that a knot of ladies had 
entered the room, and naturally his first glance was to 
see if his mother was with them. But he did not see 
her, his eyes lighting instead upon the Princess, who 
was on her way to join her husband. 

The blood rose to Frank’s cheeks, as he saw that her 
Royal Highness was looking at him intently, and his 
confusion increased as she smiled pleasantly at him in 
passing. Instead of hurrying forward to open the door 
for her as usual, he stood in his place as if frozen, and 
the duty fell to Andrew, who joined him as soon as the 
last lady had passed through the door and the curtain 
was let fall. 

“I say, Frank,” said the lad merrily, “she didn’t 
seem very cross with you. Lucky to be you, with your 
mother a favourite. You’re all right, and I don’t sup- 
pose you’ll hear another word about the business. It’s 
a good thing sometimes to be a boy.” 

But Andrew proved to be wrong, ‘and wkhin the next 
hour or so ; for the last of the audience — reckless officers 
praying for promotion and gentlemen asking the Prince's 
support as they sought for place — had gone, when a ser- 
vant entered the anteroom, and took Frank’s breath 
away by saying that the Prince wished to speak with 
him directly. 

“ It’s all over with you, Frank,” whispered Andrew ; 


WITH PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 


21 1 


“ leave me a lock of your hair, and you may as well 
give me your sword for a keepsake. You’ll never want 
it again.” 

These bantering words did not quell the boy’s alarm, 
but he had no time for thought ; he had to go, and, 
drawing himself up and trying to put on a firm mien, 
he went to the door, drew aside the curtain, knocked, 
and entered. 

The Prince was busy at a table covered with papers, 
the Princess sat near him in the opening of one of the 
windows, and her ladies were at the other end of the 
room beyond earshot. 

The boy grasped all this as he moved toward the 
table, and then stood waiting respectfully for his Royal 
Highness to speak. 

But some minutes elapsed, during which the boy’s 
heart beat heavily, and he stood watching the Prince, 
as he kept on dipping his pen in the ink and signed 
some of the papers by him, and drew the pen across 
others. 

Frank would have given anything for a look of en- 
couragement from the Princess ; but she sat with her 
face still turned away, reading. 

At last ! 

The Prince looked up sharply, as if he had just be- 
come aware of the boy’s presence, and said in rather 
imperfect English : 

“ Well, my boy !” 

Frank, who had felt so manly the previous night and 
that morning, was the schoolboy again, completely 
taken aback, and for a few moments stood staring 
blankly at the inquiring eyes before him. Then, as the 
Prince raised his brows as if about to say, “ Why don’t 
you speak ?” the boy said hurriedly : 

“ Your Royal Highness sent for me.” 

** Sent for you ? No — oh yes, I remember. Well, 
sir, what excuse have you to make for yourself ?” 

” None, your Highness,” said the boy firmly. 


212 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Humph ! Defiant and obstinate ?” 

Frank shook his head. He could not trust himself to 
speak. 

“ Hah ! that’s better,” said the Prince. “ Well, 
what have you to say in excuse for your conduct, before 
I order you to quit my service ?” 

“ Nothing, your Highness.” 

“ Humph ! Very wise of you, sir. I hate lying ex- 
cuses.” 

Frank darted a quick glance in the direction of the 
Princess, in the hope that she would intercede for him, 
as he saw himself sent off in disgrace, separated from 
the mother whom his father had bidden him to watch 
over and protect. The idea was horrible, and with his 
hands turning moist in the palms, and the dew gather- 
ing in fine drops about his temples, he felt ready to 
promise anything to ensure his stay at the Palace. 

“ 1 may tell you what I have heard from the officer in 
charge of the guard last night — everything which took 
place. What am I to think of one of my servants stand- 
ing with his sword drawn to resist his Majesty’s officer 
in the execution of his duty ?” 

” It was to defend my mother, sir, ” said Frank firmly, 

“ Oh ! Well, that is what a son should do, and that 
is some excuse. A lady I respect, and whom the Prin 
cess esteems. But this is very serious at a time like 
this, when his Majesty is surrounded by enemies ; and 
there must be no more such acts as this, Mr. Gowan. 
If you were a man, I should not have spoken as I do ; 
you would have been dealt with by others. But as you 
are a mere thoughtless boy, ready to act on the impulse 
of the moment, and as, for your mother’s sake, the 
Princess has interceded for you, I am disposed to look 
,over it.” 

” Thank your Royal Highness,” cried Frank, draw- 
ing a long, deep breath, full of relief. 

“ Now you may go back to your duties, and remem- 
ber this : you are very young, and have good prospects 



“ The next instant he was down on one knee." 












WITH PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 


2I 5 


before you. You are my servant now you are a boy ; 
I hope you will be my servant still when you grow up 
to be a man. I shall want men whom I can trust — men 
to whom I can say ‘ Protect me,’ and who will do it.” 

“Yes, your Highness, and I will,” cried Frank 
eagerly, as he took a couple of steps forward. “ So 
would my father, your Highness. He is a fine, brave, 
true soldier, and ” 

“ He has a son who believes in him. Well ?” 

“ He was forced to fight, your Highness. You would 
not have believed in him as a soldier if he had refused, 
and it is so cruel and hard that he should have been 
sent away. Pray — pray ask the King to forgive him 
now.” 

“ Humph ! You are a very plain-spoken young gen- 
tleman,” said the Prince sternly. ” You draw your 
sword to protect your mother, and now I suppose if 
your father is not pardoned you will turn rebel and draw 
it again to protect him.” 

“ Your Royal Highness has no right to think such a 
thing of me,” said the boy, flushing warmly. “ I was 
taught that I was to do my duty here.” 

“ And very good teaching too, sir ; but boys are very 
ready to forget what they are taught ; and princes and 
kings have a right to think and say what they please.” 

“ I beg your Royal Highness’s pardon. You said you 
wanted faithful servants, and a truer and better man 
than my father never lived.” 

“ Here, how old are you, young fellow ?” 

” Seventeen, your Highness.” 

“ And you are arguing like a man of seven-and-forty. 
Well, it is a fine thing for a boy to be able to speak like 
that of his father, and I will not quarrel with you for 
being so plain. But look here, my boy : I am not the 
King.” 

“ But your Royal Highness will be some day,” said 
Frank excitedly, for he had the wild belief that he was 
going to carry the day. 


21 6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Humph ! Perhaps, boy ; but that is a bad argu- 
ment to use. There, I will be plain with you. It does 
not rest with me to pardon your father.” 

“ But his Majesty ” began the boy excitedly. 

“ I cannot ask his Majesty, boy,” said the Prince 
sternly. ” I am very angry to find that one of my 
attendants was mixed up with last night’s troubles ; but, 
as I told you, at the intercession of the Princess, I am 
disposed to look over it, if you promise me that in 
future you will be more careful, and do your duty as 
my servant should.” 

” I will, your Highness. — But my poor father ?” 

“ Must wait until his Majesty is disposed to pardon 
his offence. Go.” 

The Prince waved his hand toward the door, and then 
for a moment or two he looked startled, for in a quick, 
impulsive way the boy darted forward and caught the 
raised hand. 

The sudden movement startled the Princess too, and 
she sprang from her chair ; but the look of alarm passed 
from her eyes as she saw the boy bending down to kiss 
the Prince’s hand, and as he let it fall she held out her 
own. 

Frank saw the movement, and the next instant he was 
down on one knee, kissing it, and rose to give the Prin- 
cess a smile full of gratitude. 

At that moment he felt his shoulder heavily grasped 
by the Prince. 

“ Good lad !” he said. ” Go to your duties. I see I 
shall have in you a servant I can trust.” 

Frank did not know how he got out of the room, for 
his head was in a whirl, and he did not thoroughly 
come to himself till he had been seated for some time by 
his mother’s couch and had told her all that had passed. 

But somehow Lady Gowan did not look happy, and 
when she parted from her son there was a wistful look 
in her eyes which told of a greater trouble than that of 
which the boy was aware. 


WITH PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 


217 


“ Of course,” said Andrew Forbes, when he had 
drawn the full account of the boy’s experiences from 
him ; ” but you need not be so precious enthusiastic 
over it. You had done nothing, though plenty of peo- 
ple get hung nowadays for that.” 

“ But he was very kind and nice to me.” 

“ Kind and nice !” said Andrew, with a sneer. 
“ That was his artfulness. He wants to make all the 
friends he can against a rainy day — his rainy day. 
He’s thinking of being King ; but he won’t be. I do 
know that.” 

Frank gave him an angry look, and turned away ; 
but his companion caught his arm. 

” Don’t go, Frank ; that was only one of my snarls. 
I’m not so generous and ready to believe in people as 
you are.” 

Frank remembered his companion’s position and his 
confidence about his father, and turned back. 

“ I can’t bear to hear you talk like that.” 

“ Slipped out,” said Andrew hurriedly. “ There, 
then, it’s all right again for you. But there’s no mis- 
take about your having a good friend in the Princess.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


FRANK BOILS OVER, 


HERE seemed to be a good deal of excitement 



i about the court one day ; people were whispering 
together, and twice over, as Frank was approaching, he 
noted that they either ceased talking or turned their 
backs upon him and walked away. But he took no 
further notice of it then, for his mind was very full of 
his father, of whom he had not heard for some time. 

His mother had seemed terribly troubled and anxious 
when he had met her, but he shrank from asking her 
the cause, feeling that his father’s long silence was tell- 
ing upon her ; and in the hope of getting news he went 
again and again to the house in Queen Anne Street, 
ascended to the drawing-room, and opened the picture- 
panelled closet door. 

But it was for nothing. The housekeeper had told 
him that Sir Robert had not been ; but thinking that 
his father could have let himself in unknown to the old 
servant, Frank clung to the hope that he might have 
been, deposited a letter, and gone again, possibly in the 
night. In every visit, though, he was disappointed, but 
contented himself by thinking that his father had acted 
wisely, and felt that it was not safe to come for fear 
that he might be watched. 

It was nearly a week since he had been to the house, 
and he was longing for an opportunity to go again, but 
opportunity had not served, and he came to the con- 
clusion that he would slip off that very afternoon, after 
exacting a promise from Andrew Forbes that he would 


FRANK BOILS OVER. 


219 


keep in the anteroom ready to attend to any little duty 
which might require the presence of one of the pages. 

To his surprise, though, Andrew was nowhere to be 
seen. To have inquired after him would only have 
served to draw attention to his absence, so he contented 
himself with waiting, patiently, but minute by minute 
he grew more anxious, feeling convinced that some- 
thing must have occurred. 

“Whatever has happened?” he said to himself at 
last, as he saw officers begin to arrive and be ushered 
into the Prince’s room ; but why, there was no chance 
for him to know, as there was no one to whom he could 
apply for information, and at last he sat alone in the 
great blank saloon, fidgeting as if he were upon thorns, 
and inventing all manner of absurd reasons to account 
for his companion’s absence. 

“ I know,” he said to himself at last ; “he has noticed 
that there is something on the way, and gone out to try 
and pick up news. He’ll be here directly.” 

But he was wrong. Andrew did not come, and sev- 
eral little things occurred to show him that there was 
undue excitement about the place. 

At last his suspense came to an end, as he sat alone, 
for Andrew appeared looking flushed and excited, 
glanced sharply round as soon as he was inside the 
door, caught sight of his friend, and half ran to join 
him. 

“ Oh, here you are, then, at last !” cried Frank. 

“ At last,” said the lad. 

“ Yes ; where have you been — news-hunting ?” 

“ Yes,” he whispered excitedly ; ‘‘ news-hunting, and 
I ran it down.” 

“ What is it ? There are three officers with the 
Prince, and I heard some one say that a messenger was 
to be despatched to bring the King back to town:” 

“ Did you hear that ?” cried Andrew excitedly. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Ah !” ejaculated Andrew. 


220 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ What is it ? A riot ?” 

“ Yes, a very big riot, lad ; a very, very big one. 
Now we shall see.” 

“ It doesn’t seem likely for it to be we" said Frank 
sarcastically. “ Why don’t you out with it, and tell 
me what’s the matter ?” 

“ Oh, two things ; but haven’t you heard ?” 

“ Of course not, or I shouldn’t be begging and pray- 
ing of you to speak.” 

“ I found a letter from the dad, that’s one thing, and 
he told me what I find the place is ringing with.” 

“ Something about bells ?” said Frank, laughing. 

“ Yes, if you like,” said Andrew wildly. ” The toc- 
sin. War, my lad, war !” 

” What ! with France ?” 

“ No ; England. At last. The King has landed.” 

“ I say, are you going mad ?” 

” Yes, with excitement. Frank, the game has begun, 
and we must throw up everything now, and join hands 
with the good men and true who are going to save our 
country. ” 

” Bah ! You’ve got one of your fits on again,” cried 
Frank contemptuously ; “ what a gunpowder fizgig you 
are !” 

“ Look here !” said Andrew, in an angry whisper ; 
” this is no time for boyish folly. We must be men. 
The crisis has come, and this miserable sham reign is 
pretty well at an end.” 

“ The Prince is in yonder,” said Frank warningly. 

“ Prince !” said Drew contemptuously ; “I know no 
Prince but James Francis Stuart. Now, listen ; there 
must be no shilly-shallying on your part ; we want 
every true patriot to draw the sword for his coun- 
try.” 

*’ Ah well, I’m not what you call a true patriot, and 
so I shan’t draw mine.” 

“ Bah !” ejaculated Drew. 

“And bah!” cried Frank. “Don’t you play the 


FRANK BOILS OVER. 


221 


fool, unless you want some one to hear you,” he con- 
tinued, in a warning whisper. 

“ What do I care ? I have had great news from my 
father, and the time has at last come when we must 
strike for freedom.” 

“ Are you mad ? Do you know where you are ?” 
cried Frank, catching him by the arm. 

“ Not mad, and I know perfectly where I am. Look 
here, Frank ; there must be no more nonsense. I tell 
you the time has come to strike. Our friends have 
landed, or are about to land. There is going to be a 
complete revolution, and before many hours the House 
of Hanover will be a thing of the past, and the rightful 
monarch of the House of Stuart will be on the throne.” 

” Then you are mad,” said Frank, with another un- 
easy glance at the curtained door beyond where they 
stood, ” or you would never talk like this.” 

“ I shall talk how I please now,” cried the lad ex- 
citedly. “ Let them do their worst. I feel ready to 
wait till the Prince comes out, and then draw my sword 
and shout, ‘ God save King James the Third ! ’ ” 

“ No, you are not. You would not so insult one who 
’has always behaved well to you.” 

“ Bah ! I am nobody. I don’t count. How have 
he and his behaved to my poor father and to yours ? 
Frank, I know I’m wildly excited, and feel intoxicated 
by the joyful news ; but I know what I am talking 
about, and I will not have you behave in this miserable, 
cold-blooded way, when our fathers are just about to 
receive their freedom and come back to their rights.” 

“ It’s no use to argue with you when you’re in this 
state,” said Frank coldly; “but I won’t sit here and 
have you say things which may lead to your being pun- 
ished. I should be a poor sort of friend if I did.” 

“ Pah ! Have you no warm blood in you, that you 
sit there as cool as a frog when I bring you such glori- 
ous news ?” 

“ It isn’t glorious,” said Frank. “ It means horrible 


222 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


bloodshed, ruin, and disaster to hundreds or thousands 
of misguided men.” 

“ Misguided ! Do you know what you are talking 
about ?” 

“ Yes, perfectly.” 

“ Have you no feeling for your father and mother’s 
sufferings ?” 

“ Leave my father and mother out of the question, 
please.” 

“ I can't. I know you’re not a coward, Frank ; but 
you’re like a stupid, stubborn bloodhorse that wants 
the whip or spur to make him go. When he does 
begin, there’s no holding him.” 

“ Then don’t you begin to use whip or spur, Drew, 
in case.” 

“ But I will. I must now. It is for your good. I'm 
not going to stand by and see you and your mother 
crushed in the toppling-down ruins of this falling house. 
Do you hear me ? The time has come, and we want 
every one of our friends, young and old, to strike a 
good blow for liberty.” 

‘ ‘ Let your friends be as mad as they like, * ’ said F rank 
angrily. “I’m not going to stand by either and see 
Drew Forbes go to destruction.” 

“ Bah ! — to victory. There, no more arguing. You 
are one of us, and you must come out of your shell now, 
and take your place.” 

” I’m not one of you,” said Frank sturdily, and too 
warm now to think of the danger of speaking aloud , 
“ I was tricked into saying something or joining in 
while others said it, and I am not a Jacobite, and I 
never will be !” 

” I tell you that you are one.” 

“ Have it so if you like ; but it’s in name only, and 
I’ll show you that I am not in deed. You talked about 
crying before the Prince, ‘ God save King James ! 
God save King George ! There !” 

He spoke out loudly now, but repented the next mo- 


FRANK BOILS OVER. 


223 


ment, for fear that he should have dared his companion 
to execute his threat. 

“ Coward !” cried Andrew. “ The miserable Ger- 
man usurper who has banished your father !” 

“You said that you knew I was not a coward.” 

“ Then I retract it. You are if you try to hang back 
now.” 

“ Call me what you like, I’ll have nothing to do with 
it. They don’t want boys.” 

“ They do — every one ; and you must come and 
fight.” 

“ Indeed !” 

“ Yes, or be punished as a traitor.” 

“ Let them come and punish me, then,” said Frank 
hotly. “ I wear a sword, and I know how to use it.” 

“ Then come and use it like a man. Come, Frank. 
Don’t pretend that you are going to show the white 
feather.” 

“ I don’t.” 

“ It is monstrous !” panted the lad, who was wildly 
excited by his enthusiasm. “ I want you — my friend — 
to stand by me now at a critical time, and you treat me 
like this. I can’t understand it when you know that 
your father is a staunch supporter of the royal cause.” 

“ Of course I do. What’s that got to do with it ? Do 
you think because he has been sent away that he would 
forget his oath to the King ?” 

“ I said the royal cause, not the usurper’s.” 

“ It is false. My father is still in the King’s service, 
waiting for his recall.” 

“ Your father is my father’s friend, as I am yours, 
and he is now holding a high command in King James’s 
army.” 

“ It’s not true, Drew ; it’s one of your tricks to get 
me to go with you, and do what I faithfully promised 
I never would do. You know it’s false. High in com- 
mand in King James’s army ! Why, he has no army, 
so it can’t be true.” 


224 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ I tell you, it is true. My father and yours are both 
generals.” 

“ Look here,” said Frank, turning and speaking now 
in an angry whisper, “ you’re going too far, Drew. I 
don’t want to quarrel— I hate to quarrel. Perhaps I am 
like a stubborn horse ; but I did warn you not to use 
the whip or spur, and you will keep on doing it. Please 
let it drop. You’re making me feel hot, and when I 
feel like that my head goes queer, and I hit out and 
keep on hitting, and feel sorry for it afterward. I 
always did at school, and I should feel ten times as 
sorry if I hit you. Now you sit down, and hold your 
tongue before you’re heard and get into a terrible 
scrape.” 

“ Sit down ! At a time like this !” cried the lad. 
“ Oh, will nothing stir you ? Are you such a cowardly 
cur that you are going to hide yourself among the Ger- 
man petticoats about the Palace ? I tell you, it is true : 
General Sir Robert Gowan throws up his hat for the 
King.'’ 

“ Cowardly cur yourself !” cried Frank, whose rage 
had been bubbling up to boiling-point for the last ten 
minutes and now burst forth. 

“ Miserable traitor ! I thought better of you !” 
cried Andrew bitterly. “ Pah ! Friends ! You are 
not worth the notice of a gentleman. Out of the way, 
you wretched cur !” 

He struck Frank sharply across the face with his 
glove, as he stepped forward to pass, and quick as light- 
ning the boy replied with a blow full in the cheek, which 
sent him staggering back, so that he would have fallen 
had it not been for the wall. 

In an instant court rules and regulations were forgot- 
ten. The boys knew that they wore swords, and these 
flashed from the scabbards, ornaments no longer, and 
the next moment they crossed, the blades gritted to- 
gether, thrust and parry followed, and each showed 
that the instructions he had received were not in vain. 


FRANK BOILS OVER. 


225 


What would have been the result cannot be told, save 
that it would have been bitter repentance for the one 
who had sent his blade home ; but before any mischief 
had been done in the furious encounter, the doors at 
either end of the anteroom were opened, and the Prince 
and the officers from the audience chamber with the 
guards from the staircase landing rushed in, the former 
narrowly escaping a thrust from Andrew’s sword, as 
with his own weapon he beat down the boys’. 

“ How dare you !” he cried. 

“ Now !” cried Andrew defiantly to Frank, as he 
stood quivering with rage — “ now is your time. Speak 
out ; tell the whole truth.” 

“ Yes, the whole truth,” said the Prince sternly. 
“ What does this brawl mean ?” 

Frank did not hesitate for a moment. 

“It was my fault, your Royal Highness,” he cried, 
panting. “ We quarrelled ; I lost my temper and 
struck him.” 

“ Who dared to draw ?” thundered the Prince. 

“ We both drew together, your Royal Highness,” 
cried Frank hurriedly, for fear that Andrew should be 
beforehand with him ; “ but I think I was almost the 
first. ” 

“ You insolent young dogs !” cried the Prince ; 
“ how dare you brawl and fight here ! — Take away their 
swords ; such boys are not fit to be trusted with weapons. 
— As for you, sir,” he said, turning fiercely on Frank, 
“ like father like son, as you English people say. And 
you, sir— you are older,” he cried to Andrew. “ There, 
take them away, and keep them till I have decided how 
they shall be punished. — Come back to my room, gen- 
tlemen. Such an interruption is a disgrace to the 
court.” 

He turned and walked toward the door, followed by 
the three officers, one of whom on entering looked back 
at the lads and smiled, as if he did not think that much 
harm had been done. 


226 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


But neither of the lads saw, for Andrew was whisper- 
ing maliciously to Frank : 

“ You dared not speak. You knew how I should be 
avenged. ” 

“ Yes, I dared ; but I wasn’t going to be such a cow- 
ard,” cried Frank sharply. 

“ Ah, stop that !” cried the officer who held the boys’ 
swords, and had just given orders to his men to take 
their places in front and rear of his prisoners. “ Do 
you want to begin again ? Hang it all ! wait till you 
get to the guardroom, if you must fight.” 

“ Don’t speak to me like that !” cried Andrew 
fiercely. “ It is not the custom to insult prisoners, I 
believe.” 

“ Forward ! march !” said the officer ; and then, to 
Frank’s annoyance, as well as that of Andrew, he saw 
that the officer was laughing at them, and that the men 
were having hard work to keep their countenances. 

Five minutes later they had been marched down the 
staircase, across the courtyard, to the entrance of the 
guardroom, where, to Frank’s great mortification, the 
first person he saw was Captain Murray. 

“ Hallo ! what’s this ?” he cried. “ Prisoners ? What 
have you lads been about ?” 

“ Fighting, ” said Frank sullenly, Andrew compress- 
ing his lips and staring haughtily before him, as if he 
felt proud of his position. 

“ Fighting ! With fists ?” cried Captain Murray. 

“ Oh no,” said the officer of the guard ; ” quite cor- 
rectly. Here are their skewers.” 

“ But surely not anywhere here ?” 

“ Oh yes,” said the officer mirthfully ; ” up in the 
anteroom, right under the Prince’s nose.” 

“ Tut — tut — tut !” ejaculated Captain Murray, half 
angry, half amused. 

“ The Prince came between them, and the tall cock 
nearly sent his spur through him,” continued the officer. 
“ I s’pose this means the Tower and the block, doesn’t 


FRANK BOILS OVER. 


227 


it, Murray ? or shall we have the job to shoot ’em before 
breakfast to-morrow morning ?” 

“ If I were only free,” cried Andrew, turning fiercely 
on the officer, “ you would not dare to insult me 
then.” 

“ Then I’m very glad you are not. I say, why in the 
name of wonder are you not in the service, my young 
fire-eater ? You are not in your right place as a page.” 

“ Because — because ” 

“ Stop ! that will do, young man,” said Captain Mur- 
ray sternly. “ Let him be,” he continued to his 
brother-officer. “ The lad is beside himself with 
passion.” 

“ Oh, I’ve done ; but are they to be put together? 
They’ll be at each other’s throats again.” 

“ No, they will not,” said Captain Murray. “ Frank, 
give me your word as your father’s son that this quarrel 
is quite at an end.” 

“ Oh yes, I’ve done,” said the boy quickly. 

“ And you, Mr. Forbes ?” 

“ No,” cried Andrew fiercely. “ I shall make no 
promises. — And as for you, Frank Gowan, 1 repeat what 
I said to you : every word is true.” 

“You think it is,” said Frank quietly, “or you 
wouldn’t have said it. But it isn’t true. It couldn’t 
be.” 

“ That will do, young gentlemen,” said Captain Mur- 
ray sternly. “ I should have thought you could have 
cooled down now. — Now, Mr. Forbes, will you give me 
your word that you will behave to your fellow-prisoner 
like a gentleman, and save me the unpleasant duty of 
placing you in the cell ?” 

“Yes. Come, Drew,” said Frank appealingly. 
“ We were both wrong. I’ll answer for him, Captain 
Murray. ” 

“ Well, one can’t quarrel if the other will not. You 
can both have my room while you are under arrest. — 
Place a sentry at their door,” and turning to his brother- 


228 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


officer, and giving Frank a nod, as he looked at him 
sadly and sternly, Captain Murray walked away. 

A few minutes later the key of the door was turned 
upon them, and they heard one of the guard placed on 
sentry duty outsideo 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“what did he SAY?” 

F RANK threw himself into a chair, and Andrew 
Forbes began to walk up and down like a newly 
caged wild beast. 

Frank thought of the last time he was in that room, 
and of Captain Murray’s advice to him ; then of the 
quarrel, and his companion’s mad words against his 
father. From that, with a bound, his thoughts went to 
his mother. What would she think when she heard — 
as she would surely hear in a few minutes — about the 
encounter ? 

He felt ready to groan in his misery, for the trouble 
seemed to have suddenly increased. 

Andrew did not speak or even glance at him ; and 
fully a quarter of an hour passed before Frank had de- 
cided as to the course he ought to pursue. Once he 
had made up his mind he acted, and, rising from his 
chair, he waited until his fellow-prisoner was coming 
toward him in his wearisome walk, and held out his 
hand. 

“ Will you shake hands, Drew ?” he said. 

The lad stopped on the instant, and his face lit up 
with eagerness. 

“ Yes,” he cried, “ if you’ll stand by me like a man.” 
“ What do you mean ?” 

“ Escape with me. Get out of the window as soon as 
it is dark, and make a dash for it. Let them fire ; they 
would not hit us in the dark, and we could soon reach 
the friends and be safe.” 


230 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“Run away and join your friends?” said Frank 
quietly. 

* “ Yes ! We should be placed in the army at once, 
as soon as they knew who we were. Come, you repent 
of what you said, and you will be faithful to the 
cause ?” 

“ Won’t you shake hands without that ?” 

“ No, I cannot. I am ready to forgive everything you 
said or did to me ; but I cannot forgive such an act as 
desertion in the hour of England’s great need. Shake 
hands.” 

“ Can’t,” said Frank sadly ; and he thrust his hands 
into his pockets, walked to the window, and stood look- 
ing out into the courtyard. 

No word was spoken for some time, and no sound 
broke the stillness that seemed to have fallen upon the 
place, save an occasional weary yawn from the soldier 
stationed outside the'door and the tramp of the nearest 
sentry, while Andrew very silently still imitated the 
action of a newly caged wild animal. At last he stopped 
suddenly. 

“ Have you thought that over ?” he said. 

“ No,” replied Frank. “ Doesn’t want thinking over. 
My mind was made up before.” 

“ And you will take the consequences ?” 

“ Hang the consequences !” cried Frank angrily. 
“ What is your rightful monarch, or your pretender, or 
whatever he is, to me ? I don’t understand your poli- 
tics, and I don’t want to. I’ve only one thing to think 
about. My father told me that, as far as I could, I was 
to stand by and watch over my mother in his absence, 
and I wouldn’t forsake my post for all the kings and 
queens in the world ; so there !” 

“ Then I suppose if I try to escape you will give the 
alarm and betray me ?” 

“ I don’t care what you suppose. But I shouldn’t be 
such a sneak. I wish you would go, and not bother 
me. You’ve no business here, and it would be better if 


“WHAT DID HE SAY?” 


231 


you were away ; but I don’t suppose you will do much 
good if you do go.” 

“ Oh !’’ ejaculated Andrew, as if letting off so much 
indignant steam ; “ and this is friendship !’’ 

“ I don’t care what you say now. Your ideas are 
wider and bigger than mine, I suppose. I’m a more 
common sort of fellow, with only room in my head to 
think about what I’ve been taught and told to do. Per- 
haps you’re right, but I don’t see it.’’ 

“ I can’t give you up without one more try,’’ said An- 
drew, standing before him with his brow all in lines. 
“ You say your father told you to stay and watch over 
your mother ?’’ 

“Yes ; and I will.” 

“ But since then he has changed his opinions ; he is 
on our side now, and I cannot but think that he would 

wish you to try and strike one blow for his 

Bah !’’ 

Andrew turned away in bitter contempt and rage, for 
strong in his determination not to be stung into a fresh 
quarrel, the boy he addressed, as soon as he heard his 
companion begin to reiterate his assertion that Sir Rob- 
ert Gowan had gone over to the Pretender’s side, turned 
slowly away, and, with his elbows once more resting on 
the window-sill, thrust a finger into each ear, and 
stopped them tight. So effectually was this done, that 
he started round angrily on feeling a hand laid upon his 
shoulder. 

“ It’s of no use, Drew, I won’t Oh, it’s you, 

Captain Murray !’’ 

“ Yes, my lad. Has he been saying things you don’t 
like ?’’ 

Frank nodded. 

“ Well, that’s one way of showing you don’t want to 
listen. Your mother wishes to see you, and you can go 
to her. ” 

“ Ah !” cried the boy eagerly. 

“ Give me your word as a gentleman that you will go 


232 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


to her and return at once, and I will let you cross to 
Lady Gowan’s apartments without an escort.” 

“ Escort, sir?” said Frank wonderingly. 

“ Well, without a corporal and a file of men as guard.” 

“ Oh, of course I’ll come back,” said the boy, smil- 
ing. “ I’m not going to run away.” 

“ Go, then, at once.” 

Captain Murray walked with him to the door, made a 
sign to the sentry, who drew back to stand at attention, 
and the boy began to descend. 

“ How long may I stay, sir ?” he asked. 

“ As long as Lady Gowan wishes ; but be back before 
dark.” 

“ Poor old Drew !” thought Frank, as he hurried 
across to the courtyard upon which his mother’s apart- 
ments opened ; “ it’s a deal worse for him than it is for 
me. But he’s half mad with his rightful-king ideas, 
and ready to say or do anything to help them on. But 
to say such a thing as that about my father ! Oh !” 

He was ushered at once into his mother’s presence, 
but she did not hear the door open or close ; and as she 
lay on a couch, with her head turned so that her face 
was buried in her hands, he thought she was asleep. 

“ Mother,” he said softly, as he bent over her. 

Lady Gowan sprang up at once ; but instead of hold- 
ing out her arms to him as he was about to drop on his 
knees before her, her wet eyes flashed angrily, and she 
spoke in a voice full of bitter reproach. 

“ I have just heard from the Princess that my son, 
whom I trusted in these troublous times to be my stay 
and help, has been brawling disgracefully during his 
duties at the court.” 

“ Brawling disgracefully” made the boy wince, and a 
curious, stubborn look began to cloud his face. 

“ Her Royal Highness tells me that you actually so 
far forgot yourself as to draw upon young Forbes, that 
you were half mad with passion, and that some terrible 
mischief would have happened if the Prince, who heard 


“WIIAT DID HE SAY?” 


233 


the clashing from his room of audience, had not rushed 
in, and at great risk to himself beaten down the swords. 
That is what I have been told, and that you are both 
placed under arrest. Is it all true ?” 

“ Yes, mother,” said the lad bluntly ; and he set his 
teeth for the encounter that was to come. 

“ Is this the conduct I ought to expect from my son, 
after all my care and teaching — to let his lowest pas- 
sions get the better of him, so that, but for the interfer- 
ence of the Prince, he might have stained his sword 
with the blood of the youth he calls his friend ?” 

“ It might have been the other way, mother,” said 
the boy bluntly. 

“Yes ; and had you so little love, so little respect for 
your mother’s feelings, that you could risk such a 
thing ? 1 have been prostrated enough by what has 

happened. Suppose, instead, the news had been 
brought to me that in a senseless brawl my son had 
been badly wounded — or slain ?” 

“ Senseless brawl” made the boy wince again. 

“ It would have been very horrible, mother,” he said, 
in a low voice. 

“ It would have killed me. Why was it ? What was 
the cause '?” 

“ Oh, it was an affair of honour, mother,” said Frank 
evasively. 

“An affair of honour!” cried Lady Go wan scorn- 
fully ; “a boy like you daring to speak to me like that ! 
Honour, sir ! Where is the honour ? It comes of boys 
like you two, little better than children, being allowed 
to carry weapons. Do you not know that it is an hon- 
our to a gentleman to wear a sword, because it is sup- 
posed that he would be the last to draw it, save in some 
terrible emergency for his defence or to preserve an- 
other's life, and not at the first hasty word spoken? 
Had you no consideration for me ? Could you not see 
how painful my position is at the court, that you must 
give me this fresh trouble to bear ?” 


2 34 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Yes, mother ; you know how I think of you. I 
couldn’t help it. " 

“ Shame ! Could not help it \ Is this the result of 
your education — you, growing toward manhood — my 
son to tell me this unblushingly, to give me this pitiful 
excuse — you could not help it ? Why was it, sir ?" 

“ Well, mother, we quarrelled. Drew is so hot-tem- 
pered and passionate." 

“ And you are perfectly innocent, and free from all 
such attributes, I suppose, sir," cried Lady Gowan sar- 
castically. 

“ Oh no, I’m not, mother," said the lad bluntly, as 
he felt he would give anything to get away, “ I’ve got 
a nasty, passionate temper ; but I’m all right if it isn’t 
roused, and Drew will keep on till he rouses it." 

“ Pitiful ! Worse and worse !" cried Lady Gowan. 
“ All this to arise, I suppose, out of some contemptible 
piece of banter or teasing. He said something to you, 
then, that you did not like ?" 

“ Yes," said Frank eagerly, “ that was it." 

“ And pray what did he say ?" 

“ Say — oh — er— he said — oh, it was nothing much." 

“ Speak out — the truth, sir," cried Lady Gowan, fix- 
ing her eyes upon her son’s. 

“ Oh, he said — something I did not like, mother." 

“ What was it, sir ? I insist upon knowing." 

“ Oh, it was nothing much." 

“ Let me be the judge of that, sir. I, as your mother, 
would be only too glad to find that you had some little 
excuse for such conduct." 

“ And then," continued Frank hurriedly, “ I got put 
out, and — and I called him a liar." 

“ What was it he said ?" 

“ And then he struck me over the face with his glove, 
mother, and I couldn’t stand that, and I hit out, and 
sent him staggering against the wall." 

“ Why ? — what for ?" insisted Lady Gowan. 

“ And in a moment he whipped out his sword and 


“WHAT DID HE SAY?” 


235 


attacked me, and of course I had to draw, or he would 
have run me through.” 

“ Is that true, sir — Andrew Forbes drew on you first ?” 

“ Of course it’s true, mother,” said the lad proudly. 
“ Did I ever tell you a lie ?” 

“ Never, my boy,” said Lady Gowan firmly. “ It 
has been my proud boast to myself that I could trust 
my son in everything.” 

“ Then why did you ask me in that doubting way if it 
was true ?” 

“ Because my son is prevaricating with me, and 
speaking in a strange, evasive way. He never spoke to 
me like that before. Do you think me blind, Frank? 
Do you think that I, upon whom your tiny eyes first 
opened — your mother, who has watched you with all a 
mother’s love from your birth, cannot read every change 
in your countenance ? Do you think I cannot see that 
you are fighting hard to keep something back ? — you, 
whom I have always been so proud to think were as 
frank by nature as you are by name ?- Come, be 
honest with me. You are hiding something from 
me ?” 

“ Yes, mother,” cried the lad, throwing back his head 
and speaking defiantly now, “ I am.” 

“ Then tell me what it is at once. I am your mother, 
from whom nothing should be hid. If the matter is 
one for which you feel shame, if it is some wrong doing, 
the more reason that you should come to me, my boy, 
and confide in me, that I may take you once again to 
my heart, and kneel with you, that we may together 
pray for forgiveness and the strength to be given to 
save you from such another sin.” 

“ Mother,” cried the boy passionately, “ I have not 
sinned in this !” 

“ Ah ! — Then what is it ?” 

“ I cannot tell you.” 

“ Frank, if ever there was a time when mother and 
son should be firmly tied in mutual confidence, it is 


23<5 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


now. I have no one to cling to but you, and you hold 
me at a distance like this,” 

“ Yes, yes ; but I cannot tell you.” 

“ You think so, my boy ; but don’t keep it from 
me.” 

“ Mother,” cried Frank wildly, “ I must !” 

“ You shall not, my boy. I will know.” 

“ I cannot tell you.’ ’ 

He held out his hands to her imploringly, but she 
drew back from him, and her eyes seemed to draw the 
truth he strove so hard to keep hidden from his unwill- 
ing lips. 

“ There, then !” he cried passionately ; “ I bore it as 
long as I could : because he insulted my father — it was 
to defend his honour that I struck him, and we fought.” 

“You drew to defend your father’s honour,” said 
Lady Gowan hoarsely ; and her face looked drawn and 
her lips white. 

” Yes, that was it. Is it so childish of me to say that 
I could not help that ?” 

“ No,” said Lady Gowan, in a painful whisper. 
“ How did he insult your father ? What did he say ?” 

“ Must I tell you ?” 

“ Yes.” 

Frank drew a long, deep, sobbing breath, and his 
voice sounded broken and strange, as he said in a low, 
passionate voice : 

“ He dared to insult my father — he said he was false 
to the King — that he had broken his oath as a soldier — 
that he was a miserable rebel and Jacobite, and had 
gone over to the Pretender’s side.” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated Lady Gowan, shrinking back into 
the corner of the couch, and covering her face with her 
hands. 

“ Mother, forgive me !” cried the lad, throwing him- 
self upon his knees, and trying to draw her hands from 
her face. “ I could not speak. It seemed so horrible 
to have to tell you such a cruel slander as that. I could 


“WHAT DID HE SAY?” 


237 


not help it. I should have struck at anybody who said 
it, even if it had been the Prince himself.” 

Lady Gowan let her son draw her hands from her 
white, drawn face, and sat back gazing wildly in his 
eyes. 

“ Oh, mother !” he cried piteously, “ can you think 
this a sin ? Don’t look at me like that.” 

She uttered a passionate cry, clasped him to her 
breast, and let her face sink upon his shoulder, sobbing 
painfully the while. 

“ I knew what pain it would give you, dear*,” he whis- 
pered, with his lips to her ear ; “ but you made me tell 
you. I was obliged to fight him. Father would have 
been ashamed of me, and called me a miserable coward, 
if I had not stood up for him as I did.” 

“ Then — then — he said that of your father ?” faltered 
Lady Gowan, with her convulsed face still hidden. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you denied it, Frank.” 

“ Of course,” cried the lad proudly ; “ and then we 
fought, and I did not know what was happening till the 
Prince came and struck down our swords.” 

Lady Gowan raised her piteous-looking face, pressed 
her son back from her, and rose from the couch. 

“ Go now, my boy,” she said, in a low, agonised 
voice. 

“ Back to prison ?” he said. “ But tell me first that 
you are not so angry with me. I can’t feel that I was 
so wrong.” 

“ No, no, my boy — no, I cannot blame you,” sighed 
Lady Gowan. 

“ And you forgive me, mother ?” 

“ Forgive you? Oh, my own, true, brave lad, it is 
not your fault, but that of these terrible times. Go 
now, I can bear no more.” 

“ Say that once again,” whispered Frank, clinging to 
her. 

“ I cannot speak, my darling. I am suffering more 


238 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


than I can tell you. There, leave me, dearest. 1 want 
to be alone, to think and pray for help in this terrible 
time of affliction. Frank, I am nearly broken-hearted. ’ 

“ And I have been the cause,” he said sadly. 

“ You ? Oh no, no, my own, brave, true boy. I 
never felt prouder of you than I do now. Go back I 
must think. Then I will see the Princess. The Prince 
is not so very angry with you, and he will forgive you 
when he knows the truth.” 

“ And you, mother ?” 

“ I ?” cried the poor woman passionately. “ Heaven 
help me ! I do not feel that I have anything to forgive.” 

Lady Gowan embraced her son once more, and stood 
looking after him as he descended the stairs, while 
Frank walked over to his prison with head erect and a 
flush of pride in his cheeks. 

“ There,” he muttered, as he passed the sentry, “ let 
them say or do what they like ; I don’t care now.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE BREACH WIDENS. 


NDREW started from his seat as Frank entered the 



room and the door was closed and locked behind 


him ; but, seeing who it was, he sat down again with 
his face averted. 

“ Shall I tell him ?” thought Frank. . “ No ; it would 
be like triumphing over him to show him I have found 
out that he has been trying to cheat me into going off.” 

The boy felt so satisfied and at ease that he was more 
and more unwilling to hurt his fellow-prisoner's feel- 
ings, and after a while he spoke. 

“ I suppose they’ll give us something to eat,” he said. 

Andrew looked up at him in astonishment, but only 
to frown the next moment and turn his head away 
again. 

Frank went to the window and stood looking out, 
one corner commanding a view of the Park ; and after 
watching the people come and go for some time, he 
suddenly turned to his companion : 

“ Here are the Horse Guards coming, Drew. Want 
to see them ?” 

“ No. Will you have the goodness to leave me in 
peace ?” 

“No,” said Frank quietly. “How can I? We’re 
shut up together here perhaps for ever so long, and we 
can’t keep up that miserable quarrel now. Hadn’t we 
better shake hands ?” 

“ What do you suppose I’m made of ?” said Andrew 
fiercely. 


240 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“Same stuff as I am,” replied Frank almost as 
sharply ; “and as I’ve shown myself ready to forgive 
and forget what has happened, you ought to do the 
same.” 

But it was of no use. Try how he would to draw An- 
drew into conversation, the latter refused to speak ; 
and at last the boy gave up in despair, and began to 
look about the captain’s room for something out of 
which he could drag some amusement. This last he 
had to extract from one of the books on a shelf ; but it 
proved dry and uninteresting, though it is doubtful 
whether one of the most cheery nature would have held 
his attention long. For he had so much to think about 
that his mind refused to grasp the meaning of the differ- 
ent sentences, and one minute he was wondering whether 
his father would venture to the house, the next he was 
going over the scene of the quarrel in the antechamber. 
Then he thought sadly about his interview with his 
mother, but only to feel elated and happy, though it 
was mingled with sorrow at having given her so much 
pain. 

A little resentment began to spring up, too, against 
Andrew, as the true cause of it all, but it did not last ; 
he felt far too much at rest for that, and the anger gave 
way to pity for the high-spirited, excitable lad seated 
there in the deepest dejection, and he began to wish 
now that he had not called him a liar and struck him. 

“ I shall go melancholy mad/' muttered Frank at 
last, “ if they keep us shut up long, and Drew goes on 
like this. But I wonder whether there will really be a 
rising against the King/' 

Curiosity made him try to be communicative, and he 
turned to his silent companion. 

“ Think there really will be any fighting ?’’ he said. 

Andrew turned to him sharply. 

“ Why do you ask ?” he said. 

“ Simple reason : because I want to know-*' 

“ You have some other reason.” 


THE BREACH WIDENS. 


241 


“ Because I want to send word to the Prince that you 
are a rebel, and intend to go and join the Pretender’s 
followers, of course,” said Frank sarcastically. “ Don’t 
be so spiteful, Drew. We can’t live here like this. 
Why don’t you let bygones be bygones ?” 

“ What interest can it be to you ?” said Andrew, 
ignoring the latter part of his fellow-prisoner’s re- 
mark. 

“ Do you suppose such a rising can take place with- 
out its being of interest to every one ? There, we won’t 
talk about it unless you like. Look here, I can’t sit still 
doing nothing ; it gives me pins and needles in my 
hands and feet. I’ll ring and ask Captain Murray to 
let us have a draught-board if you’ll play.” 

“ Pish !” cried Andrew contemptuously ; and Frank 
sighed and gave up again, to take refuge in staring out 
of the window for some time. 

Then his tongue refused to be quiet, and he cried to 
his silent companion : 

“ There is something going on for certain. I’ve 
counted twelve officers go by since I’ve been standing 
here.” 

There was no heed paid to his remark, and at last the 
boy drew a breath full of relief, for he heard steps on 
the stairs, the sentry’s piece rattled, and then the key 
turned in the lock, and Captain Murray entered, look- 
ing very stern. 

“ Frank Gowan,” he said, “ you give me your parole 
d'hotineur that you will not do anything foolish in the 
way of attempting to escape ?” 

“ Oh yes, of course, sir,” said the boy. “ I don’t 
want to escape. 

“ That’s right. And you, Andrew Forbes ?” 

“ No ; I shall make no promises,” was the reply. 

“ Don’t be foolish, my lad. You ought to have 
cooled down by this time. Give me your word : it will 
make your position bearable, and mine easy.” 

“ I shall give no promises,” said Andrew haughtily. 


242 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ I have been arrested, and brought here a prisoner, 
and I shall act as a prisoner would.” 

‘‘Try to escape? Don’t attempt to do anything so 
foolish, my lad. I will speak out like a friend to you. 
There has been some important news brought to the 
Palace ; the guard has been quadrupled in number, 
double sentries have been placed, and they would fire at 
any one attempting to pass the gates without the word 
to-night. Now, give me your promise.” 

‘‘I — will — not,” said Andrew, speaking firmly, and 
meeting the captain’s eyes without shrinking. 

“ Don’t be so foolish, Drew,” whispered Frank. 

“ I shall do as I think best,” was the reply. ‘‘You 
are at liberty to do the same, sir.” 

‘‘Very well,” said Captain Murray, interrupting 
them. “ Perhaps you will be more sensible and manly 
after a night’s rest. I did not expect to find a lad of 
your years behaving like a spiteful girl.” 

Andrew’s eyes flashed at him ; but the captain paid 
no heed, and went on : 

“ I have spoken to the colonel, Frank, and for your 
father’s sake he will be glad to see you at the mess- 
table this evening. You are free of it while you are 
under arrest. I will come for you in half an hour. By 
the way, I have told my man to come to you for instruc- 
tions about getting your kit from your room. You will 
use him while you afe a prisoner.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Captain Murray,” cried the boy 
eagerly. 

“ Pray make use of my servant, Mr. Forbes, and 
order him to fetch what you require.” 

Andrew bowed coldly, and the captain left the room, 
his servant tapping at the door directly after, and enter- 
ing to receive his orders from Frank. 

“ Now, Drew,” he said at last, “ tell him what to 
fetch for you.” 

‘‘I do not require anything,” said the youth 
coldly. 


THE BREACH WIDENS. 


243 


“ Yes, look here. There is a little desk on the table in 
my room ; bring me that.” 

“ Hadn’t you better give in, and make the best of 
things ?” said Frank, as soon as they were alone. 

“ Had you not better leave me to myself, Frank 
Gowan ?” said Andrew coldly. “ We are no longer 
friends, but enemies.” 

“ No, we can’t be that,” cried Frank. “ Come ; 
once more, shake hands.” 

Andrew looked at him for a few moments fixedly, 
and then said slowly : 

“ I will 

“ Come, that’s better.” 

“ On the day when your King George is humbled to 
the dust, and you are, with all here, a helpless prisoner. 
I’ll shake hands and forgive you then.” 

“ Not till then ?” cried Frank, flushing. 

“ Not till then.” 

“ Which means that we are never to be friends again, 
Drew. Nonsense ! You are still angry. Captain Mur- 
ray is right.” 

“ That I speak like a spiteful girl !” cried the lad 
sharply. 

“ No, I did not mean that,” said Frank quietly ; 
“ but if I had meant it, I should not have been very far 
from right. I hope that you will think differently after 
a night’s rest. Come, think differently now, and give 
up all those mad thoughts which have done nothing 
but make us fall out. It isn’t too late. Captain Mur. 
ray is trying to make things pleasant for us ; tell him 
when he comes that you’ll dine with him.” 

Andrew made an angry gesture, and Frank shrugged 
his shoulders, went into the adjoining room to wash his 
hands, and/came back just as the tramp of soldiers was 
heard outside, the order was given for them to halt, and 
then followed their heavy footsteps on the stairs. 

The next minute Captain Murray entered the room. 

” Ready, bloodthirsty prisoner?” he said, smiling. 


244 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“Yes, sir, quite,” replied Frank ; while Andrew sat 
at the other end of the room with his back to them. 

Frank glanced in his fellow-prisoner’s direction, and 
then turned back to the captain, and his lips moved 
quickly as he made a gesture in Andrew’s direction. 

The captain read his meaning, nodded, walked up to 
the lad, and touched him on the shoulder, making him 
start to his feet. 

“ Life’s very short, Andrew Forbes,” he said quietly, 
“ and soldiers are obliged to look upon it as shorter for 
them than for other men. It isn’t long enough to nurse 
quarrels or bear malice. I think I have heard you say 
that you hope to be a soldier some day.” 

“ Yes, I do,” said the lad, with a meaning which the 
captain could not grasp. 

“Very well, then ; act now like a frank soldier to 
another who says to you, try and forget this trouble, 
and help every one to make it easier for you. There’s 
care enough coming, my lad ; and I may tell you that 
the Prince has enough to think about without troubling 
himself any more over the mad prank of twp high-spir- 
ited boys. There, I’ll wait for you ; go into my room, 
and wash your hands and smooth your face. I venture 
to say that you will both get a wigging to-morrow, and 
then be told to go back to your duties.” 

Andrew did not budge, and the jcaptain’s face grew 
more stern. 

“ Come on, Drew,” cried Frank ; but the lad turned 
away. 

“ Yes, come along,” cried the captain ; “a good din- 
ner will do you both good, and make you ready to laugh 
at your morning’s quarrel. Do you hear ?” 

There was no reply. 

“You are not acting like a hero, my lad,” said the 
captain, smiling once more. 

Still there was no reply. 

“ Very well, sir ; you refuse your parole, and I can 
say no more. I have my duty to do, and I cannot 


THE BREACH WIDENS. 


245 


offer you my hospitality ‘here. You are still under 
arrest.” 

He walked to the door, threw it open, made a sign, 
and a corporal and two Guardsmen marched in. 

“ Take this gentleman to the guardroom,” he said. 
“ Your officer has his instructions concerning him.” 

“ Oh, Drew !” whispered Frank ; but the lad drew 
himself up, and took a few steps forward, placing him- 
self between the Guards, and kept step with them as 
they marched out and down the stairs. 

The next minute their steps were heard on the paving- 
stones without, and Frank darted to the window, to 
stand gazing out, feeling half choked with sorrow for 
his friend. 

A touch on the arm made him remember that Captain 
Murray was waiting. 

“ It’s a pity, Frank,” he said ; ” but I did all I could. 
He’s a bit too high-spirited, my lad. The best thing 
for him will be the army ; the discipline would do him 
good. ” 

Frank longed to speak, but he felt that his lips were 
sealed. 

“ Well, we must not let a bit of hot temper spoil our 
dinner, my lad. By the way, what news of your 
father ?” 

“ None, sir,” said the boy sadly, though the thought 
of what Andrew Forbes had said made him wince. 

“ Humph !” said Captain Murray, looking at the boy 
curiously. ” There, I don’t want to pump you. Tell 
him next time you write that there will be a grand night 
at the mess when he comes back to his old place. Now, 
then, we shall be late.” 

“ Would you mind excusing me, sir?” said Frank. 

“ Yes, very much. Nonsense ! You must be quite 
hungry by now.” 

“ No : I was ; but it’s all gone.” 

“ Hah !” said the captain, gripping him by the shoul- 
der ; ” you’re your father’s own boy, Frank. I like 


246 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


that, but I can’t have it. You accepted the invitation, 
and I want you, my lad. Never mind Andrew Forbes ; 
he only requires time to cool down. He’ll be ready to 
shake hands in the morning. Come, or we shall get in 
disgrace for being late.” 

Frank was marched off to the messroom ; but he felt 
as if every mouthful would choke him, and that he 
would have given anything to have gone and shared 
Andrew Forbes’s confinement, even if he had only re- 
ceived hard words for his pains. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


A NIGHT ALARM. 

I T was very plain to Frank that the officers did not 
look upon his offence in a very serious light, for 
the younger men received him with a cheer, and the 
elders with a smile, as they shook hands, while the doc- 
tor came and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“ Hallo, young fire-eater !” he cried ; “ when are you 
coming to stay ?” 

“ To stay, sir ?” said the boy, feeling puzzled. 

“ Yes, with your commission. We’ve lost your father. 
We must have you to take his place.” 

“No, sir,” said Frank, flushing. “I don’t want to 
take my father’s place. I want to see him back in it.” 

“ Well said !” cried the colonel ; “ what we all want. 
But get to be a bit more of a man, and then coax the 
Prince to give you a commission. I think we can make 
room for Robert Gowan’s son in the corps, gentlemen ?” 

There was a chorus of assent at this ; and the colonel 
went on : 

“ Come and sit by me, my lad. We can find a chair for 
you and your guest, Murray, at this end. Why, you’re 
not fit for a page, my lad ; they want soft, smooth, girl- 
ish fellows for that sort of thing. A young firebrand 
like you, ready to whip out his sword and use it, is the 
stuff for a soldier.” 

Frank wished the old officer would hold his tongue, 
and not draw attention to him, for every one at the 
table was listening, and Captain Murray sat smiling 
with grim satisfaction. But the colonel went on : 


248 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Very glad to see you here this evening, my boy. 
Why, I hear that you are quite a favourite with the 
Prince. ” 

“ It does not seem like it, sir,” said Frank, who was 
beginning to feel irritated. “ I am a prisoner.” 

There was a laugh at this, which ran rippling down 
the table. 

“ Not bad quarters for a prisoner, eh, gentlemen ?” 
said the colonel. “ Pooh ! my lad, you are only under 
arrest ; and we are very glad you are, for it gives us 
the opportunity of having the company of Robert 
Gowan’s son.” 

Frank blushed with pleasure to find how warmly his 
father’s name was received ; and the colonel went 
on : 

“Don’t you trouble your head about being under 
arrest, boy. The Prince was obliged to have you 
marched off. It wouldn’t do for him to have every 
young spark drawing and getting up a fight in the Pal- 
ace. By the way, what was the quarrel about ? You 
struck young Forbes ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Well, of course he would draw upon you ; but how 
came you to strike him ?” 

The boy hesitated ; but the colonel’s keen eyes were 
fixed upon him so steadfastly, that he felt that he must 
speak and clear himself of the suspicion of being a mere 
quarrelsome schoolboy, and he said firmly : 

“ He said insulting things about my father, sir.” 

There was a chorus of approval at this ; and as soon 
as there was silence, the colonel looked smilingly round 
the table : 

“ I think we might forgive this desperate young cul- 
prit for committing that heinous offence, gentlemen. 
What do you say ?” 

There was a merry laugh at this ; and the colonel 
turned to the lad : 

“ We all forgive you, Mr. Gowan. It is unanimous. 


A NIGHT ALARM. 


249 


Now, I think we are a little hard upon you ; so pray go 
on with your dinner.” 

I don’t think his arrest will last long, sir,” said 
Captain Murray, after a while. 

“ Pooh ! No : I’m afraid not,” said the colonel ; 
” and we shall lose our young friend’s company. The 
Prince is a good soldier himself, even if he is a German. 
Gowan will hear no more of it, I should say ; and I 
don’t want to raise his hopes unduly, but on the strength 
of this rising, when we want all good supporters of his 
Majesty in their places, I should say that the occasion 
will be made le for sending word to Captain Sir Rob- 
ert Gowan to come back to his company.” 

Frank flushed again, and looked at Captain Murray, 
who smiled and nodded. 

“ By the way, Murray,” said the colonel, ‘‘why did 
you not bring the other young desperado to dinner ?” 

The captain shrugged his shoulders. 

“ A bit sulky,” he said. “ Feels himself ill-used.” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated the colonel ; and seeing Frank’s 
troubled face, he changed the conversation, beginning 
to talk about the news of a rising in the north, where 
certain officers were reported to have landed, and where 
the Pretender, James Francis, was expected to place 
himself at their head, and march for London. 

“ A foolish, mad project, I say, gentlemen,” exclaimed 
the colonel; ‘‘and whatever my principles may have 
been, I am a staunch servant of his Majesty King 
George I., and the enemy of all who try and disturb 
the peace of the realm.” 

A burst of applause followed these words ; and the 
conversation became general, giving Frank the oppor- 
tunity for thinking over the colonel’s words, and of 
what a triumph it would be for his father to return and 
take up his old position. 

“ Poor old Drew !” he said to himself, with a sigh. 
“ What would he think if he heard them talking about 
its being a mad project ?” 


250 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


Then he went on thinking about how miserable his 
old companion must be in the guardroom, watched by 
sentries ; and as he kept on eating for form’s sake, 
every mouthful seemed to go against him, and he wished 
the dinner was over. For, in addition to these thoughts, 
others terribly painful would keep troubling him, the 
place being full of sad memories. He recalled that he 
was sitting in the very seat occupied by the German 
baron upon that unlucky evening ; and the whole scene 
of the angry encounter came vividly back, even to the 
words that were spoken. The natural sequence to this 
was his being called by Andrew Forbes in the dull grey 
of the early morning to go and witness that terrible 
sword fight in the Park ; and he could hardly repress a 
shudder as he seemed to see the German’s blade flash- 
ing and playing about his father’s breast, till the two 
thrusts were delivered, one of which nearly brought the 
baron’s career to a close. 

Nothing could have been kinder than the treatment 
the young guest received from the officers ; but nothing 
could have been more painful to the lad, and again and 
again he wished himself away as the dinner dragged its 
slow length along, and he sat there feeling lonely, occu- 
pied toward the end almost entirely with thoughts of 
his father, Andrew’s false charge about him being gen- 
erally uppermost, and raising the indignant colour to 
his cheeks. 

“ I wonder where he is now,” he thought, “ and what 
he is doing ?” 

Then once more about what delight his mother would 
feel if the colonel’s ideas came to pass, and Sir Robert 
came back in triumph. 

“Oh, it’s too good to be true,” thought the boy; 
but he clung to the hope all the same. 

The only time when he was relieved from the pressure 
of his sad thoughts was when the conversation around 
grew animated respecting the probabilities of the coun- 
try being devastated by civil war ; but even then it 


A NIGHT ALARM. 


2 5i 

made his heart ache on Andrew Forbes’s account, as he 
heard the quiet contempt with which the elder officers 
treated the Pretender’s prospects, the colonel especially 
speaking strongly on the subject. 

“ No,” he said, “ England will never rise in favour of 
such a monarch as that. It is a mad business, that will 
never win support. The poor fellow had better settle 
down quietly to his life in France. The reign of the 
Stuarts is quite at an end.” 

“ Poor old Drew,” thought Frank. “ I wish he could 
have heard that ; but he would not have believed if he 
had.” 

Then the officers went on talking of the possibility of 
their regiment being called upon for active service, and 
the boy could not help a feeling of wonder at the eager 
hopes they expressed of having to take part in that 
which would probably result in several of those present 
losing their lives or being badly wounded. 

“ I wonder whether I shall be as careless about my 
life when I am grown-up and a soldier ?” he thought. 

The regular dinner had long been over, and the mem- 
bers of the mess had been sitting longer than usual, the 
probability of the regiment going into active service 
having supplied them with so much food for discussion 
that the hour was getting late, and the young guest had 
several times over felt an intense longing to ask permis- 
sion to leave the table, his intention being to get Cap- 
tain Murray to let him join Andrew Forbes. But he 
felt that as a guest he could not do this, and must wait 
till the colonel rose. 

He was thinking all this impatiently for the last time, 
feeling wearied out after so terribly exciting a day as he 
had passed through, when the colonel and all present 
suddenly sprang to their feet ; for a shot rang out from 
close at hand, followed by a loud, warning cry, as if from 
a sentry ; then, before any one could reach the door to 
run out and see what was wrong, there was another shot, 
and again another, followed by a faint and distant cry. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


A WATCH NIGHT. 

W HAT is it— an attack ?” 

“ Quick, gentlemen !” cried the colonel ; 
“ every man to his quarters.” 

He had hardly spoken before a bugle rang out ; and 
as Frank was hurried out with the rest into the court- 
yard, it was to see, by the dim light of the clouded 
moon and the feeble oil lamps, that the guard had 
turned out, and the tramp of feet announced that the 
rest of the men gathered for the defence of the Palace 
and its occupants were rapidly hurrying out of their 
quarters, to form up in one or other of the yards. 

Frank felt that he was out of place ; but in his inter- 
est and excitement he followed Captain Murray like his 
shadow, and in very few minutes knew that no attack 
had been made upon the Palace, but that the cause of 
the alarm was from within, and his heart sank like lead 
as the captain said to him : 

” Poor lad ! He must be half crazy to do such a 
thing. Come with me.” 

Frank followed him, and the next minute they met, 
coming from the gate on the Park side, a group of 
soldiers, marching with fixed bayonets toward the 
guardroom, two of the men within bearing a stretcher, 
on which lay Andrew Forbes, apparently lifeless. For 
the lad had been mad enough to make a dash for his 
liberty, in spite of knowing what would follow, the re- 
sult being that the sentry by the guardroom had chal- 
lenged him to stop, and as he ran on fired. This spread 



» ♦ 


“ Uttered a sharp cry and fell headlong to the earth 







A WATCH NIGHT. 


255 


the alarm, and the second sentry toward the gate had 
followed his comrade’s example as he caught a glimpse 
of the flying figure, while the third sentry outside the 
gate, standing in full readiness, also caught sight of the 
lad as he dashed out and was running to reach the trees 
of the Park. 

This shot was either better aimed, or the unfortunate 
youth literally leaped into the line of fire, for as the 
sentry drew trigger, just as the lad passed between two 
of the trees, Drew uttered a sharp cry of agony and fell 
headlong to the earth. 

“ Poor lad ! poor lad !” muttered Captain Murray ; 
and he made a sign to the soldiers not to interfere, as 
Frank pressed forward to catch his friend’s hand. Then 
aloud, “ Where is the doctor ?” 

“ Here, of course,” said that gentleman sharply from 
just behind them. “Always am where I’m wanted, 
eh ? Look sharp, and take him to the guardroom.” 

“ No, no — to my quarters,” said Captain Murray 
quickly. “ Tut — tut — tut ! What were they about to 
let him go ?” 

In a few minutes the wounded lad was lying on Cap- 
tain Murray’s bed, with the colonel, Captain Murray, 
and two or three more of the officers present, and Frank 
by the bedside, for when the colonel said to the lad, 
“ You had better go,” the doctor interfered, giving 
Frank a peculiar cock of the eye as he said, “ No, don’t 
send him away ; he can help.” 

Frank darted a grateful look at the surgeon, and pre- 
pared to busy himself in undressing the sufferer. 

“ No, no • don’t do that now— only worry him. I 
can see what’s wrong, and get at it.” 

The position of the injury was plain enough to see 
from the blood on the lad’s sleeve, and the doctor did 
not hesitate for a moment ; but, taking out a keen knife 
from a little case in his pocket, he slit the sleeve from 
cuff to shoulder, and then served the deeply stained 
shirt-sleeve the same. 


256 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE 


“ Dangerous ?” said the colonel anxiously. 

“Pooh! no,” said the doctor contemptuously. 
“ Nice clean cut. — Just as if it had been done with a 
knife,” as he examined the boy’s thin, white left arm. 
“ You ought to give that sentry a stripe, colonel, for his 
clever shooting. Hah ! yes, clean cut for two inches, 
and then buried itself below the skin. Not enough 
powder, or it would have gone through instead of stop- 
ping in here. No need for any probing or searching. 
Here we are.’’ 

As he spoke he made a slight cut with his keen knife 
through the white skin, where a little lump of a bluish 
tint could be seen, pressed with his thumbs on either 
side, and the bullet came out like a round button 
through a button-hole, and rolled on to the bed. 

“ Better save that for him, Gowan,” said the doctor 
cheerfully. “ He’ll like to keep it as a curiosity. 
Stopped its chance of festering and worrying him and 
making him feverish. Now we’ll have just a stitch 
here and a stitch there, and keep the lips of the wound 
together.” 

As he spoke he took a needle and silk from his case, 
just as if he had brought them expecting that they 
would be wanted, took some lint from one pocket, a roll 
of bandage from another, and in an incredibly short 
time had the wound bound up. 

“ Likely to be serious ?” said Captain Murray. 

“What, this, sir? Pooh! not much worse than a 
cut finger. Smart a bit. Poor, weak, girlish sort of a 
fellow ; feeble pulse. Good thing he had fainted, and 
didn’t know what I was doing. — Well, squire, how are 
you ?” 

Andrew Forbes lay perfectly still, ghastly pale, and 
with his eyes closely shut, till the doctor pressed up 
first one lid and then the other, frowning slightly the 
while. 

“ Can I get anything for you, doctor ?” said Captain 
Murray. 


A WATCH NIGHT. 


257 


Eh ? Oh no ! He’ll be all right. Feels sick, 
and in a bit of pain. Let him lie there and go to 
sleep.” 

“ But he is fainting. Oughtn’t you to give him some- 
thing, or to bathe his face ?” 

“ Look here !” cried the doctor testily, “ I don’t 
come interfering and crying ‘ Fours about,’ or ‘ By your 
right,’ or anything of that kind, when you are at the 
head of your company, do I ?” 

“ Of course not.” 

“ Then don’t you interfere when I’m in command 
over one of my gang. I’ve told you he’s all right. I 
ought to know.” 

” Oh, yes ; let the doctor alone, Murray,” said the 
colonel. ” There, I’m heartily glad that matters are no 
worse. Foolish fellow to attempt such a wild trick. 
You will want a nurse for him, doctor.” 

“ Nurse ! for that ? Pooh ! nonsense ! I’m very glad 
he was so considerate as not to disturb me over my 
dinner. I shouldn’t have liked that, Squire Gowan. 
Didn’t do it out of spite because he was not asked to 
dinner, did he ?” 

” Pish ! no ; he was asked,” said Captain Murray. 
“ Yes ; you wanted to say something, Gowan ?” 

“ Only that I will have a mattress on the floor, sir, 
and stay with him.” 

“ Not necessary, boy,” said the doctor sharply. 

” Let him be with his friend, doctor,” said Captain 
Murray. 

“ Friend, sir? I thought they were deadly enemies, 
trying hard to give me a job this morning to fit their 
pieces together again. I don’t want to stop him from 
spoiling his night’s rest if he likes ; but if he stays, 
won’t they begin barking and biting again ?” 

” Not much fear of that — eh, Frank ? There, stay 
with your friend. I’m in hopes that you will do him 
more good than the doctor.” 

“ Oh, very well,” said that gentleman. 


258 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“Then you don’t think there is anything to be 
alarmed about?’’ said Frank anxiously. 

“ Pooh ! no ; not a bit more than if you had cut your 
finger with a sharp knife. Now, if the bullet had gone 
in there, or there, or there, or into his thick young 
head,’’ said the doctor, making pokes at the lad’s body 
as he lay on the bed, “ we should have some excuse for 
being anxious ; but a boy who has had his arm scratched 
by a bullet ! The idea is absurd. I say, colonel, are 
boys of any good whatever in the world ?’’ 

“ Oh yes, some of them,’’ said the colonel, smiling 
and giving Frank a kindly nod. “ Good-night, my lad. 
There will be no need for you to sit up, I think.” 

“ Not a bit, Gowan, ’ ’ said the doctor quietly. ‘ * Don’t 
fidget, boy. He’ll be all right.” 

Frank looked at him dubiously. 

“ I mean it, my lad,” he said, in quite a different tone 
of voice. “ You may trust me. Good-night.” 

He shook hands warmly with the boy, and all but 
Captain Murray left the chamber, talking about the 
scare that the shots had created in the Palace. 

“ I hear they thought the Pretender had dropped in,” 
said the doctor jocosely. Then the door was shut, and 
the sound cut off. 

“ I’ll leave you now, Frank, my lad,” said Captain 
Murray. “ Take one of the pillows, and lie down in 
the next room on the couch. There’s an extra blanket 
at the foot of the bed. I will speak to my servant to be 
on the alert, and to come if you ring. Don’t scruple to 
do so, if you think there is the slightest need, and he 
will fetch the doctor at once. You will lie down ? ' 

“ If you think I may,” said Frank, as he walked with 
him to the door of the sitting-room, beyond earshot of 
the occupant of the bed. 

“ I am sure you may, my boy. The doctor only con- 
firmed my own impression, and I feel sure he would 
know at a glance.” 

“ But Drew seems quite insensible, sir.” 


A WATCH NIGHT. 


259 


“ Yes — seems,” said Captain Murray. “ There, trust 
the doctor. I do implicitly. I think he proved his 
knowledge in the way he saved Baron Steinberg’s life. 
Good-night. You will have to be locked in ; but the 
sentry will have the key, and you can communicate with 
him as well as ring, so you need not feel lonely. There, 
once more, good-night.” 

The captain passed out, and Frank caught sight of a 
tall sentinel on the landing before the door was closed 
and locked, the boy standing pale and thoughtful for 
some moments, listening to the retiring steps of his 
father’s old friend, before crossing the room,' and enter- 
ing the chamber, which looked dim and solemn by the 
light of the two candles upon the dressing-table. He 
took up one of these, and went to the bedside, to stand 
gazing down at Andrew’s drawn face and bandaged 
arm, his brown hair lying loose upon the pillow, and 
making his face look the whiter by contrast. 

“ In much pain, Drew ?” he said softly ; but there 
was no reply. 

“ Can I do anything for you ?” 

Still no reply, and the impression gathered strength 
in the boy’s mind that his companion could hear what 
he said but felt too bitter to reply. 

This idea grew so strong, that at last he said gently : 

” Don’t be angry with me, Drew. It is very sad and 
unfortunate, and 1 want to try and help you bear it 
patiently. Would you like me to do anything for you ? 
Talk to you — read to you ; or would you like me to 
write to your father, and tell him of what has hap- 
pened ?” 

But, say what he would, Andrew Forbes made no 
sign, and lay perfectly still — so still, that in his anxiety 
Frank stretched out his hand to touch the boy’s fore- 
head and hands, which were of a pleasant temperature. 

“ He is too much put out to speak,” thought Frank ; 
“ and I don’t wonder. He must feel cruelly disap- 
pointed at his failure to escape ; but I’m glad he has 


260 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


not got away ; for it would have been horrible for him 
to have gone and joined the poor foolish enthusiasts 
who have landed in the north. ” 

He stood gazing sadly down at the wounded lad for 
some minutes, and then softly took the extra pillow and 
blanket from the bed, carried them to the little couch 
in the next room, returned for the candles, aiid, after 
holding them over the patient for a few minutes, he 
went back quietly to the sitting-room, placed them on 
the table, took a book, and sat down to read. 

He sat down to read, but he hardly read a line, for 
the scenes of the past twenty-four hours came between 
his eyes and the print, and at the end of a quarter of an 
hour he wearily pushed the book aside, took up one of 
the candles, and looked in the chamber to see how An- 
drew appeared to be. 

Apparently he had not moved ; but now, as the boy 
was going to ask him again if he could do anything for 
him, he heard the breath coming and going as if he 
were sleeping calmly ; and feeling that this was the very 
best thing that could happen to him, he went softly back 
to his seat, and once more drew the book to his side. 

But no ; the most interesting work ever written would 
not have taken his attention, and he sat listening for 
the breathing in the next room, then to the movements 
of the sentry outside as he moved from time to time, 
changing feet, or taking a step or two up and down as 
far as the size of the landing would allow. Then came 
a weary yawn, and the clock chimed and struck twelve, 
while, before it had finished, the sounds of other clocks 
striking became mingled with it ; and Frank listened to 
the strange jangle, one which he might have heard hun- 
dreds of times, but which had never impressed him so 
before. 

At last silence, broken only by the pacings of other 
sentries ; and once more came from the landing a weary 
yawn, which was infectious, for in spite of his troubles 
Frank yawned too, and felt startled. 


A WATCH NIGHT 


261 


“ I can’t be sleepy,” he said to himself ; “ who could 
at such a time ?” And to prove to himself that such a 
thing was impossible, and show his thorough wakeful- 
ness, he rose, and once more walked into the chamber, 
looked at the wounded lad, apparently sleeping calmly, 
and returned to his seat to read. 

And now it suddenly dawned upon him that, in spite 
of his desire to be thoroughly wakeful, nature was show- 
ing him that he could not go through all the past excite- 
ment without feeling the effects, for, as he bent firmly 
over his book to read, he found himself suddenly read- 
ing something else — some strange, confused matter 
about the house in Queen Anne Street, and the broken 
door. 

Then he started up perfectly wakeful, after nodding 
so low that his face touched the book. 

** How absurd !” he muttered ; and he rose and 
walked up and down the room. The sentry heard him, 
and began to pace the landing. 

Frank returned to his seat, looked at the book, and 
went off instantly fast asleep, and almost immediately 
woke up again with a start. 

“Oh, this won’t do,” he muttered. “I can’t — I 
won’t sleep.” 

The next minute he was fast, but again he woke up 
with a start. 

“ It’s of no use,” he muttered ; “ I must give way to 
it for a few minutes. I’ll lie down, and perhaps that 
will take it off, and I shall be quite right for the rest of 
the night.” 

Very unwillingly, but of necessity, for he felt that he 
was almost asleep as he moved about, he rose, took up 
the blanket from the couch, threw it round him like a 
cloak, punched up the pillow, and lay down. 

“ There !” he said to himself ; “ that’s it. I don’t 
feel so sleepy this way ; it’s resting oneself by lying 
down. I believe I could read now, and know what I 
am reading. How ridiculous it makes one feel to be so 


262 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


horribly sleepy ! Some people, they say, can lie down 
and determine to wake up in an hour, or two hours, or 
just when they like. Well, I'd do that— I mean I’d try 
to do that — if I were going to sleep ; but I won’t sleep. 
I’ll lie here resting for a bit, and then get up again, and 
go and see how Drew is.. It would be brutal to go off 
soundly, with him lying in that state. — How quiet it all 
seems when one is lying down ! It’s as if one could 
hear better. Yes, I can hear Drew breathing quite 
plain ; and how that sentry does keep on yawning ! 
Sentries must get very sleepy sometimes when on duty 
in the night, and it’s a terribly severe punishment for 
one who does sleep at his post. Well, I’m a sentry at 
my post to watch over poor Drew, and I should deserve 
to be very severely punished if I slept ; not that I should 
be punished, except by my own conscience.” 

He lay perfectly wakeful now, looking at the candles, 
which both wanted snuffing badly, and making up his 
mind to snuff them ; but he began thinking of his father, 
then wondering once more where he could be, and feel- 
ing proud of the way in which the officers talked about 
him. 

“ If the King would only pardon him !” he thought, 

“ how I must get up and snuff those candles ; if I 

don’t, that great black, mushroom-like bit of burnt wick 
will be tumbling off and burning in the grease, and be 
what they call a thief in the candle. How it does grow 
bigger and bigger !” 

And it did grow bigger and bigger, and fell into the 
tiny cup of molten grease — for in those days the King’s 
officers were not supplied with wax candles for their 
rooms — and it did form a thief, and made the candle 
gutter down, while the other slowly burned away into 
the socket, and made a very unpleasant odour in the 
room, as first one and then the other rose and fell with 
a wanton-looking, dancing flame, which finally dropped 
down and rose no more, sending up a tiny column of 
smoke instead. 


A WATCH NIGHT. 


263 


Then the sentry was relieved, and so was Frank, for, 
utterly worn out, he was sleeping heavily, with nature 
hard at work repairing the waste of the day, and so 
soundly that he did not know of the reverse of circum- 
stances, and that Andrew Forbes had risen to enter the 
outer room, and look in, even coming close to his side, 
as if to see why it was he did not keep watch over him 
and come and see him from time to time. 

History perhaps was repeating itself : the mountain 
would not go to Mahomet, so Mahomet had to go to 
the mountain. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


A STRANGE AWAKENING. 


HERE is not much room in a bird’s head for 



1 brains ; but it has plenty of thinking power all 
the same, and one of the first things a bird thinks out 
is when he is safe or when he is in danger. As a con- 
sequence of this, we have at the present day quite a 
colony of that shyest of wild birds, the one which will 
puzzle the owner of a gun to get within range — the 
wood-pigeon, calmly settled down in St. James’s Park, 
and feeding upon the grass, not many yards away from 
the thousands of busy or loitering Londoners going to 
and fro across the enclosure, which the birds have found 
out is sacred to birddom, a place where no gun is ever 
fired save on festival days, and though the guns then 
are big and manipulated by artillerymen, the charges 
fired are only blank. 

But St. James’s Park from its earliest enclosure was 
always a place for birds — even the name survives on one 
side of the walk devoted by Charles II. to his birdcages, 
where choice specimens were kept ; so that a hundred 
and eighty years ago, when the country was much 
closer to the old Palace than it is now, there was noth- 
ing surprising in the chink , chink of the blackbird and 
the loud musical song of thrush and lark awakening a 
sleeper there somewhere about sunrise. And to a boy 
who foved the country sights and sounds, and whose 
happiest days had been spent in sunny Hampshire, it 
was very pleasant to lie there in a half roused, half- 
dreamy state listening to the bird notes floating in upon 
the cool air through an open window, even if the lark’s 


A STRANGE AWAKENING. 265 

note did come from a cage whose occupant fluttered its 
wings and pretended to fly as it gazed upward from 
wheie it rested upon a freshly cut turf. 

The sweet notes set Frank Gowan thinking of the 
broad marshy fields down by the river, bordered with 
sedge, reed, and butter-bur, where the clear waters 
raced along, and the trout could be seen waiting for the 
breakfast swept down by the stream — where the marsh 
marigolds studded the banks with their golden chalices, 
the purple loose strife grew in brilliant beds of colour, 
and the creamy meadow-sweet perfumed the morning air. 
Far more delightful to him than any palace, more musi- 
cal than the choicest military band, it all sent a restful 
sense of joy through his frame, the more invigorating 
that the window was wide, and the odour of the burned- 
down candles had passed away. 

He lay imbibing the sweet sounds and freshness 
through ear and nostril ; but for a time his eyes re- 
mained fast closed. Then, at a loud thrilling burst 
from the lark’s cage in the courtyard, both eyes opened, 
and he lay staring up at the whitewashed ceiling, cov- 
ered with cracks, and looking like the map of Nowhere 
in Wonderland. For the lark sang very sweetly to 
charm the wished-for mate, which never came, and 
Frank smiled and gradually lowered his eyes so that 
they were fixed upon the uncurtained window till the 
lark finished its lay. 

. Then, and then only, did he begin to think in the 
way a boy muses when his senses grow more and more 
awake. First of all he began to wonder why it was that 
the window was wide open — not that it mattered, for 
the air was very cool and sweet ; then why it was his 
bedroom looked so strange ; then why it was that the 
blanket was close up to his face without the sheet ; and, 
lastly, he sat up feeling that horrible sense of depression 
which comes over us like a cloud when there has been 
trouble on the previous day — trouble which has been 
forgotten. 


266 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


For a moment or two he felt that he must be dream- 
ing. But no, he was dressed, this was Captain Mur- 
ray’s room, there was the door open leading into the 

chamber where Andrew Forbes lay, and yes Then 

it all came with crushing force — he lay wounded after 
that mad attempt to escape, while the friend who had 
offered to sit with him and watch had calmly lain down 
and gone to sleep. 

“ Oh, it is monstrous !" panted the boy, as he threw 
the blanket aside, and stepped softly, and trembling 
with excitement, toward the chamber. For now the 
dread came that something might have happened dur- 
ing the night, in despite of the doctor’s calm way of 
treating the injury. 

The idea was so terrible that, as he reached the door, 
he stopped short, and turned a ghastly white, not dar- 
ing to look in. But recalling now that he had heard his 
friend’s breathing quite plainly over-night, he listened 
with every nerve on the strain. Not a sound, till the 
lark burst forth again. 

He hesitated no longer, but, full of shame and self- 
reproach for that which he could not help, he stepped 
softly into the room, and then stood still, staring hard 
at the bed, and at a blood-stained handkerchief lying 
where it had been thrown upon the floor. 

For a few moments the lad did not stir — he was per- 
fectly stunned ; and then he began to look slowly round 
the room for an explanation 

The bed was without tenant Had Captain Murray, 
or some other officer, come with a guard while he slept 
and taken the prisoner away ? 

Then the truth came like a flash : — 

The window in the next room — it was open ! 

He darted back, and ran to the window to thrust out 
his head and look down. Yes, it was easy enough ; he 
could hirnself have got out, hung by his hands, and 
dropped upon the pavement, which would not have been 
above eight feet from the soles of his boots as he hung. 


A STRANGE AWAKENING. 


267 


But the wound ! How could a lad who was badly- 
wounded in the arm manage to perform such a feat ? 

He must have been half wild, delirious from fever, to 
have done such a thing. No. 

Fresh thoughts came fast now. It stood to reason 
that if Drew had been half wild with delirium he must 
have been roused ; and he now recalled how coolly the 
doctor had taken the injury, and Captain Mui ray’s half 
contemptuous manner, which he had thought unfeeling. 
Then, too, it was strange that Drew should have lain as 
he did, with his eyes tightly closed, just as if he were 
perfectly insensible, and never making the slightest sign 
when he had spoken to him. 

For a few minutes Frank battled with the notion ; 
but it grew stronger and stronger, and at last he was 
convinced. 

“ Then he was shamming,” he muttered indignantly, 
“ pretending to 'be worse than he really was, so as to 
throw people off their guard, and then try again to 
escape.” 

Once more he tried to prove himself to be in the 
wrong and thoroughly unjust to the wounded lad ; but 
facts are stubborn things, and one after the other they 
rose up, trifles in themselves, but gaining strength as 
the array increased, and at last a bitter feeling of anger 
filled the boy’s breast, as he felt perfectly convinced of 
the truth that Drew had lain there waiting till he was 
asleep, and then, in spite of his wound, had crept out 
of the window, dropped, and gone. 

But how could he ? The sentries had stopped him 
before ; why did they not do so at the second attempt ? 
And besides, there was the sentry just outside the door. 
Why had not he heard ? 

Frank went to the window again, and looked out, to 
find that it was not deemed necessary to place a guard 
over the guardroom and the officers’ quarters, save that 
there was one man at the main doorway, and this was 
beyond an angle from where he stood, while the next 


268 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


sentries were in the courtyard to his left, and the stable- 
yard, to his right. So that, covered by the darkness, it 
was comparatively an easy task to drop down unnoticed, 
though afterwards it was quite a different thing, 

f ‘ Then he has gone !” said Frank softly ; and he 
shrank away from the window, to stand thinking about 
how the lad could have managed to get away unseen by 
the sentries. 

Thoughts came faster than ever ; and he, as it were, 
put himself in his companion’s position, and uncon- 
sciously enacted almost exactly what had taken place. 
For Frank mentally went through what he would have 
done under the circumstances if he had been a prisoner 
who wished to get away. 

He would have waited till all was still, and when the 
sentry at the door was pacing up and down, and his 
footsteps on the stone landing would help to dull any 
noise he made, he would slip out of the window, drop 
on to his toes, and then go down on all fours, and creep 
along close to the wall beneath the windows, right for 
the piazza-like place, and along beneath the arches, 
making not for either of the entrance gates, but for the 
private garden. There he would be stopped by the 
wall ; but there was a corner there with a set of iron 
spikes pointing downward to keep people from climbing 
over, but which to an active lad offered good foot- and 
hand hold, by means of which he felt that he could 
easily get to the top. From there he could drop down, 
go right across the garden to the outer wall, which 
divided it from the Park, and get on that somewhere by 
the help of one of the trees. Once on the top, he could 
choose his place, and crawl to it like a cat Then all 
he had to do was to lower himself by his hands, and 
drop down, to be free to walk straight away, and take 
refuge with his friends. 

“ Oh, I could get out as easily as possible, if 1 wanted 
to,” muttered Frank. ” Poor Drew ! what’s to become 
of him now ?” 


A STRANGE AWAKENING. 


269 


Frank stood thinking still, and saw it all more and 
more plainly. Drew would know where his father was, 
and go and join him. And then ? 

Frank shuddered, for he seemed to see ruin and mis- 
ery, and the destruction of all prospects for his friend ; 
and, in spite of the indignation he felt against him for 
his deceit, his heart softened, and he muttered, as he 
turned to go once more into the bedchamber : 

“ Poor old Drew ! I did like him so much, after all.” 

As the boy entered the bedroom something caught his 
eye on the dressing-table, and he looked at it wonder- 
ingly. It was the book he had been reading in the 
other room ; the book, he knew, was there on the table 
when he lay down. Could he have taken it into the 
bedchamber ? No, he was sure he had not. Besides, 
there was a pen laid upon it, and it was open at the fly- 
leaf. Frank panted with excitement, for there, written 
in his friend’s hand, were the words : 

“ Good-bye, old Frank. We' ll shake hands some day , when 
I come back in triumph. I cant forget you, though we did 
fall out so much. You' ll be wiser some day . I can t write 
more ; my wound hurts so much. /’ m going to escape. If 
they shoot me, never mind ; I shall have died like a man, cry- 
ing. ‘ God save King J antes ! ’ 

“Drew F." 

The tears rose to Frank’s eyes, and he did not feel 
ashamed of them, as he closed the book and thrust it 
into his pocket. 

“ Poor old Drew !” he said softly ; “he believes he 
is doing right, and it is, after all, what his father taught 
him. My father taught me differently, so we can’t 
agree.” 

What should he do ? He must speak out, and it could 
make no difference now, for Drew must be safe away. 
He did not like to summon the sentry, and he shrank 
too, for he felt that he might be accused of aiding in the 
escape ; but while he was thinking he heard steps cross- 


2JO 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


ing the open space in front, and glancing through the 
chamber window, he saw Captain Murray and the doc- 
tor coming toward the plac^, 

The next minute their steps were on the stairs, the 
sentry challenged, the key rattled in the door, and the 
doctor entered first, to say jocularly as Frank advanced 
from the chamber : 

“ Morning, Gowan. Wounded man’s not dead, I 
hope.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


IN MORE' HOT WATER. 

F RANK gazed sharply at the dpctor, but remained 
silent, his countenance being so fixed and strange 
that Captain Murray took alarm. 

“ Hang it, Frank lad, what’s the matter ? Why don’t 
you speak ?” 

He did not wait to hear the boy’s answer, but rushed 
at once into his bedchamber and returned directly. 

“Here, what is the meaning of this?” he cried. 
“ Where is young Forbes ?” 

“ Gone, sir,” said Frank, finding his voice. 

“ Gone ? What do you mean ?” 

“ I sat up watching him till I could not keep my eyes 
open. Then I lay down, and when I awoke this morn- 
ing the window was open, and he had escaped.” 

“ Impossible !’’ cried Captain Murray angrily. 

“ Humph ! I don’t know so much about that, Mur- 
ray/ ’ said the doctor, after indulging in a grunt. “The 
young rascal was gammoning us last night, pretending 
to be so bad.” 

“ But there was no deceit about the wound.” 

“ Not a bit, man ; but he was making far more fuss 
about it than was real. It was only a clean cut, espe- 
cially where I divided the skin, and let out the ball. By 
George ! though, the young rascal could bear a bit of 
pain.” 

“ But do you mean to tell me that he could escape 
alone with a wound like that to disable his arm ?” 

“ Oh yes. It would hurt him terribly , but a lad with 


272 


IN HONOUR'S CAUSE. 


plenty of courage would grin and bear that, and get 
away all the same. I’m glad of it.’’ 

“ What ! Glad .the prisoner has escaped ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t mean that,” said the doctor. “ I mean 
glad he had so much stuff in him. It was a clever bit 
of acting, and shows that he must have the nerve of a 
strong man. I beg his pardon, for last night I thought 
him as weak as a girl for making so much fuss over a 
mere scratch. It was all sham, that insensibility. I 
knew in a moment — you remember I said so to you 
when we' went away.” 

The captain nodded. 

“ But I thought it was the weak, vain, young cock’s- 
comb making believe so as to pose as a hero who was 
suffering horribly.” 

” But once more,” cried Captain Murray warmly, 
” do you mean to tell me that, with one arm disabled, 
that boy could have managed to escape from the win- 
dow without help ?” 

“To be sure I do. Give him a pretty good sharp, 
cutting pain while he was using his arm. — Did you hear 
him cry out, Gowan ?” 

“ No, sir,” said Frank sharply ; and he turned angrily 
upon the captain: ” You said something very harsh 
about Drew Forbes not being able to get away without 
help. You don't think I helped him to get away ?” 

” Yes, 1 do, boy,” said the captain, with soldierly 
bluntness. “ I think you must have known he wanted 
to escape, and that you helped him to get out of the 
window ; and I consider it a miserably contemptible 
return for the kindness of your father’s old friend.” 

“ It is not true, Captain Murray,” cried Frank hotly. 
” You have no right to doubt my word. — Doctor, I as- 
sure you I did not know till I woke this morning, when 
I was utterly astonished.” 

“ And ran to the door, and gave notice to the sentry,” 
said Captain Murray coldly. 

“ No, I did not do that. I see now that I ought to 


IN MORE HOT WATER. 


273 


have done so, and I was hesitating about it when you 
both came. But I had only just found it out then.” 

“ And I suppose I shall be called to account for let- 
ting him go,” said the captain bitterly. “ Why didn’t 
you go with him ? Were you afraid ?” 

” Oh, come, come, Murray,” cried the doctor re- 
proachfully ; “ don’t talk so to the boy. He’s speaking 
the truth, I’ll vouch for it. Afraid ? Rob Gowan’s boy 
afraid ? Pooh ! he’s made of the wrong sort of stuff.” 

” Yes, sir,” cried the boy, in a voice hoarse with emo- 
tion, “ I was afraid, — not last night, for I did not know 
he was going ; but when he begged and prayed of me 
to run away with him, and join the people rising for the 
Pretender, I was afraid to go and disgrace my mother 
and father — and myself.” 

“Well done! well said, Frank, my lad!” cried the 
doctor, taking him by one hand to begin patting him 
on the back. “ That’s a knock down for you, Murray. 
Now, sir, you’ve got to apologise to our young friend 
here — beg his pardon like a man.” 

“ If I have misjudged him, I beg his pardon humbly 
— like a man,” said Captain Murray coldly. “ I hope I 
have ; but I cannot help thinking that he must have 
been aware of his companion’s flight. — Mr. Gowan, 
your parole is at an end, sir. You will keep closely to 
these rooms.” 

“ Bah !” cried the doctor ; “ why don’t you say you 
are going to have him locked up in the black hole. 
Murray, I’m ashamed of you. It’s bile, sir, bile, and I 
must give you a dose.” 

“ I am going now, doctor,” said the captain coldly. 

“ Which means I am to come away, if I don’t want to 
be locked up too. Very well, I have nothing to do 
here. — There, shake hands, Frank. Don’t you mind 
all this. He believes this now ; but he’ll soon see that 
he is wrong, and come back and shake hands. Your 
father knew how to choose his friends when he chose 
Captain Murray. He’s angry, and, more than that, 


274 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


he’s hurt, because he thinks you have deceived him ; 
but you have not, my lad. Doctors can see much far- 
ther into a fellow than a soldier can, and both of your 
windows are as wide open and clear as crystal. There, 
it will be all right.” 

He gave the boy’s shoulder a good, warm, friendly 
grip, and followed the captain out of the room The 
door was locked, some orders were given to the sentry, 
Frank heard the descending steps, and after standing 
gazing hard at the closed door for some minutes he 
dropped into the chair by the table, the one in which he 
had had such a struggle to keep awake. Then he 
placed his arms before him, and let his head go down 
upon them, feeling hot, bitter, and indignant against 
Captain Murray, and as if he were the most unhappy 
personage in the whole world. 

A quarter of an hour must have passed before he 
started up again with a proud look in his eyes. 

“ Let him — let everybody think so if they like,” he 
said aloud. ” I don’t care. She’ll believe me, 1 know 
she will. Oh ! if I could only go to her and tell her ; 
but I can’t. No,” he cried, in an exultant tone ; ” she 
knows me better, and I know she’ll come to me.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


A BIG WIGGING. 

I WON’T show that I mind,” thought Frank ; and 
in a matter-of-fact way he went into the bed- 
room, and made quite a spiteful use of the captain’s 
dressing-table and washstand, removing all traces of 
having passed the night in his clothes, and he had just 
ended and changed his shoes, which had been brought 
there, when the outer door was unlocked, and the cap- 
tain’s servant came in to tidy up the place. 

The servant was ready to talk ; but Frank was in no 
talking humour, and went and stood looking out of the 
window till the man had gone, when the boy came 
away, and began to imitate Andrew Forbes’s caged- 
animal-like walk up and down the room, in which health- 
giving exercise to a prisoner he was still occupied when 
there were more steps below — the tramp of soldiers, the 
guard was changed, and Frank felt a strong desire to 
look out of the window to see if another sentry was 
placed there ; but he felt too proud. It would be weak 
and boyish, he thought ; so he began walking up and 
down again, till once more the door was unlocked, and 
the captain’s servant entered, bearing a breakfast tray, 
and left again. 

“ Just as if I could eat breakfast after going through 
all this !” he said sadly. ” I'm sure I can't eat a bit.” 
But after a few minutes, when he tried, he found that 
he could, and became so absorbed in the meal and his 
thoughts that he blushed like a girl with shame to see 
what a clearance he had made. 


276 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


The tray was fetched away, and the morning passed 
slowly in the expectation that Lady Gowan would 
come ; but midday had arrived without so much as a 
message, and Frank’s heart was sinking again, when he 
once more heard steps, and upon the door being opened, 
Captain Murray appeared. 

“ He has come to say he believes me,'' thought the 
boy, as his heart leapt ; but it sank again upon his meet- 
ing his visitor’s eyes, for the captain looked more stern 
and cold than ever, and his manner communicated itself 
to the boy. 

“ You will come with me, Gowan,” said the captain 
sternly. 

“Where to?” was upon the boy’s lips; but he bit 
the words back, and swallowed them He would not 
have spoken them and humbled himself then for any- 
thing, and rising and taking his hat, he walked out and 
across the courtyard, wondering where he was being 
taken, for he had half expected that it was to the guard- 
room to be imprisoned more closely. But a minute 
showed him that the growing resentment was unneces- 
sary, for he was not apparently to submit to that indig- 
nity ; and now the blood began to flush up into his tem- 
ples, for he grasped without having had to ask where 
his destination was to be. 

In fact, the captain marched him to the foot of the 
great staircase, past the guard, and into the long ante- 
room, where he spoke to one of the attendants, who 
went straight to the door at the end leading into the 
Prince’s audience chamber. 

And now for a few moments the captain’s manner 
changed, and he bent his head down to whisper hasti- 
ly : 

“ The Prince has sent for you, boy, to question you 
himself. For Heaven’s sake speak out frankly the sim- 
ple truth. I cannot tell you how much depends upon 
it. Recollect this : your mother’s future is at stake, 
and ” 


A BIG WIGGING. 


277 


The attendant reappeared, came to him, and said re- 
spectfully : 

“ His Royal Highness will see you at once.” 

There was no time for the captain to say more — no 
opportunity offered for Frank to make any indignant 
retort concerning the truth. For the curtain was held 
back, the door opened, and Captain Murray led the way 
in, slowly followed by his prisoner, who advanced firmly 
enough toward where the Prince sat, his Royal High- 
ness turning his eyes upon him at once with a most por- 
tentous frown. 

“ Well, sir,” he said at once, ” so I find that I have 
fresh bad news of you. You are beginning early in life. 
Not content with what has passed, you have now turned 
traitor.” 

The Prince’s looks, if correctly read, seemed to inti- 
mate that he expected the boy to drop on his knees and 
piteously cry for pardon ; but to the surprise of both 
present he cried indignantly : 

” It is not true, your Royal Highness.” 

“ Eh ? What, sir ? How dare you speak to me like 
this ?” cried the Prince. ” I have heard everything 
about this morning’s and last night’s business, and I 
find that I have been showing kindness to a young viper 
of a traitor, who is in direct communication with the 
enemy, and playing the spy on all my movements so as 
to send news.” 

” It is not true, your Highness !” cried the boy 
warmly. ” You have been deceived. Just as if I would 
do such a thing as that !” 

” Do you mean to pretend that this young Forbes, 
your friend and companion, is not in correspondence 
with the enemy ?” 

“ No, your Royal Highness,” said the lad sadly. 

“ You knew it ?” 

“ Yes.” 

” Then, as my servant, why did you not inform me, 


278 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Because I was your servant, sir, and not a spy/’ 
said the boy proudly. 

“ Very fine language, upon my honour !” cried the 
Prince. “ But you are friends with him ; and last 
night, after his first failure, you helped him to escape/’ 

“ I did not, sir !” cried the boy passionately. 

“Words, words, sir,” said the Prince; “even your 
friend, here, Captain Murray, feels that you did.” 

“ And it is most unjust of him, sir !” cried the boy. 

“ Don't speak so bluntly to me,” said the Prince 
sternly. “ Now attend. You say you did not help him ?” 

“ Yes, your Royal Highness." 

“Mind this. I know all the circumstances. Give 
me some proof that you knew nothing of his escape.” 

“I can't, sir/’ cried the boy passionately. “ I was 
asleep, and when I woke he was gone.” 

“ Weak, weak, sir. Now look here ; you say you are 
my servant, and want me to believe in you. Be quite 
open with me ; tell me all you know, and for your 
mother’s sake I will deal leniently with you. What do 
you know about this rising and the enemy’s plans ?” 

“ Nothing, your Highness.” 

“ What ! and you were hand and glove with these 
people. That wretched boy must have escaped to go 
straight to his father and acquaint him with everything 
he knows. What reason have I to think you would not 
do the same ?” 

“I!” cried the boy indignantly; “I could not do 
such a thing. Ah !” he cried, with a look of joy, mak- 
ing his white face flush and grow animated. “Your 
Royal Highness asked me for some proof;” and he 
lugged at something in his pocket, with which, as he 
let his hands fall, one had come in contact 

“ What have you there, sir ?*’ 

“ A book, your Highness,” panted the boy ; “ but it 
won t come out. — Hah 1 that’s it. — Look, look ! I found 
that on the table when I woke this morning. See what 
he has written here.” 


A BIG WIGGING. 


279 


Frank was thinking nothing about royalty or court 
etiquette in his excitement. He dragged out the book, 
opened the cover, went close up to the Prince, and 
banged it down before him, pointing to the words, 
which the Prince took and read before turning his fierce 
gaze upon the lad’s glowing face. 

“ There !” cried the boy, “ that proves it. You must 
see now, sir. He cheated me. I thought he was very 
bad. But you see he was well enough to go. That 
shows how he wanted me to join him, and I wouldn’t. 
Oh, don’t say you can’t see !” 

“ Yes, I can see,” said the Prince, without taking 
his eyes off him. “ Did you know of this, Captain 
Murray ?” 

“ I ? No, your Royal Highness. It is fresh to me.” 

“ Read.” 

Captain Murray took the book, read the scrap of 
writing, and, forgetting the Prince’s presence, he held 
out his hands to his brother-officer’s son. 

“ Oh, Frank, my boy !” he cried, “ forgive me for 
doubting your word.” 

“ Oh yes, I forgive you !” cried the lad, seizing and 
clinging to his hands. “ I knew you’d find out the 
truth. I don’t mind now.” 

“ Humph !” ejaculated the Prince, looking on grave- 
ly, but with his face softening a little. “ The boy’s 
honest enough, sir. But you occupy a very curious 
position, young gentleman, a very curious position, 
and everything naturally looked very black against 
you.” 

” Did it, your Highness ? Yes, I suppose so.” 

“ Then you had been quarrelling with that wretched 
young traitor about joining the — the enemy ?” said the 
Prince. 

Frank winced at ” wretched young traitor but he 
answered firmly : 

“ Yes, sir ; we were always quarrelling about it, but 
1 hoped to get him to think right at last.” 


280 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ And failed, eh ?’’ said the Prince, with a smile. 

“ Yes, sir." 

" And pray, was it about this business that you fought 
out yonder ?’’ 

"It had something to do with it, sir/’ said Frank, 
flushing up. " He said 

Frank stopped short, looking sadly confused, and 
grew more so as he found the questioner had fixed his 
eyes, full now of suspicion, upon him. 

" Well, what did he say, sir ?’’ 

Frank was silent, and hung his head. 

** Do you hear me, sir ?" 

" Must I speak, Captain Murray ?’’ said the boy ap- 
pealingly. 

" Yes, the simple truth/' 

" He said, your Royal Highness, that my father had 
joined the enemy, and was a general in the rebel army, 
and I struck him for daring to utter such a lie — and 
then we fought." 

"Why?” said the Prince sternly, "for telling you 
the truth ?" 

" The truth, sir !" cried the boy indignantly. 
"Don’t say you believe that of my father, sir. There 
is not a more faithful officer in the King’s ser- 
vice." 

" Your father is not in the King’s service, but holds a 
high command with the rebels, boy." 

" No, sir, no !" cried the lad passionately ; " it is not 
true." 

At that moment, when he had not heard the rustling 
of a dress, a soft hand was laid upon Frank’s shoulder, 
and, turning sharply, he saw that it was the Princess 
who had approached and now looked pityingly in his 
face, and then turned to the Prince 

" Don’t be angry with him/ she said gently ; "it is 
very brave of him to speak like this, and terrible for 
him, poor boy, to know the truth. " 

" No, no, your Highness, it is not true !” cried Frank 


A BIG WIGGING. 


281 


wildly ; and he caught and kissed, and then clung to 
the Princess’s hand. 

“ My poor boy !” she said tenderly. 

“ No, no ; don’t you believe it, madam !” he cried. 
“ It is not — it can’t be true. Some enemy has told you 
this.” 

” No,” said the Princess gently, “ no enemy, my boy. 
It was told me by one who knows too well. I had it 
from your mother’s lips.” 

Frank gazed at her blankly, and his eyes then grew 
full of reproach, as they seemed to say, “ How can you, 
who are her friend, believe such a thing ?” 

“ There, boy,” said the Prince, interposing ; ** come 
here.” 

Frank turned to him, and his eyes flashed. 

“ Don’t look like that,” continued the Prince. “ I 
am not angry with you now. I believe you, and I like 
your brave, honest way in defending your father. But 
you see how all this is true.” 

“ No !” cried the boy firmly. “ Your Royal High- 
ness and the Princess have been deceived. Some one 
has brought a lying report to my poor mother, who 
ought to have been the last to believe it. I cannot and 
will not think it is true.” 

“ Very well,” said the Prince quietly. “ You can go 
on believing that it is not. I wish, my boy, I could. 
There, you can go back to your duties. You will no^t 
go over to the enemy, I see.” 

The boy looked at the speaker as if about to make 
some angry speech ; but his emotions strangled him, 
and, forgetting all etiquette, he turned and hurried from 
the room. 

“ Look after him, Captain Murray, said the 
Prince quietly ; “ true gold is too valuable to be 
lost. ” 

The captain bowed, and hurried into the antecham- 
ber ; but Frank had gone, one of the gentlemen in at- 
tendance saying that he had rushed through the cham- 


282 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


ber as if he had been half mad, and leaped down the 
stairs three or four at a time. 

“ Gone straight to his mother,” thought the captain ; 
and he went on down the staircase, frowning and sad, 
for he was sick at heart about the news he had that 
morning learned of his old friend. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


FRANK S FAITH 



RANK went straight to his mother’s apartments. 


JL “I don’t think my lady is well enough to see you 
to-day, sir,” said her woman. 

“ Tell her I must see her,” cried the boy passion- 
ately ; and a few minutes after, looking very white and 
strange, Lady Gowan entered the room. 

She looked inquiringly in the boy’s eyes, and a faint 
sob escaped her lips as she caught him in her arms, 
kissed him passionately, and then laid her head upon 
his shoulder, while for some minutes she sobbed so vio- 
lently that the boy dared not speak, but tried to caress 
her into calmness once more. 

“ Oh, Frank, Frank !” she sighed at last ; and he 
held her more tightly to his breast. 

“ I was obliged to come, mother,” he said ; “and 
now that I have come I dare not speak.” 

“ Yes, speak, dear, speak ; say anything to me now,” 
she sighed. 

” But it seems so cruel, mother, while you are ill like 
this !” 

“Speak, dear, speak. I ought to have sent to you 
before ; but I was so heart broken, so cowardly and 
weak, that I dared not confess it even to my own child.” 

“ Mother,” cried the boy passionately, “it is not 


true.” 


Lady Gowan heaved a piteous sigh. 

“ The Prince sent for me, thinking I helped Drew 
Forbes to escape.” 


284 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Ah ! He has escaped ?” 

“ Yes, gone to join his father with the rebels ; but the 
Prince believes me now. He asked me first if I were 
going to join my father with the rebels too.” 

“And — and — what did you say?” faltered Lady 
Go wan. 

“ I ?” cried the boy proudly. ‘‘ I told him that he 
had no more faithful servant living than my father, 
though he was dismissed from the Guards.” 

Lady Gowan uttered a weary sigh once more. 

‘‘ Oh, mother !” cried Frank, ” shame on you to be- 
lieve this miserable lie ! How can you be so weak !” 

“ Ah, Frank, Frank, Frank !” she sighed wearily. 

“ It seems too horrible to imagine that you could so 
readily think such a thing. The Prince believes it, and 
the Princess too, and she said the news came from you.’ ’ 

” Yes, dear, I was obliged to tell her. Frank, my 
boy, I knew it when I saw you last — when I was in such 
trouble, and spoke so angrily to you. I could not, oh, 
I could not, tell you then.” 

” No. I am very glad you could not, mother,” said 
the boy firmly. ‘‘You cannot, and you shall not, be- 
lieve it. Can’t you see that it is impossible ? There, 
don’t speak to me ; don’t think about it any more. 
You are weak and ill, and that makes you ready to think 
things which you would laugh at as absurd at another 
time. Oh, I wisb I had said what I ought to have said 
to the Prince,” he cried excitedly. “ I did not think 
of it then.” 

‘‘What — what would you have said?” cried Lady 
Gowan, raising her pale, drawn face to gaze in her son’s 
eyes. 

“ That he could soon prove my father’s truth by 
sending him orders to come back and take his place in 
the regiment.” 

“ Ah !” sighed Lady Gowan ; and she let her head 
fall once more upon her son’s shoulder. 

Frank started impatiently. 


FRANK’S FAITH. 


285 


“ Oh !” he cried, “ and you will go on believing it. 
There, I can’t be angry with you now, you are so ill ; 
but try and believe the truth, mother. Father is the 
King’s servant, and he would not — he could not break 
his oaths. There, you will see the truth when you get 
better ; and you must, you must get better now. It 
was this news which made you so ill ?” 

“Yes, my boy, yes,” she said, in a faint whisper ; 
“ and I blame myself for not going with him. If I had 
been by his side, he would not have changed.” 

“ He has not changed, mother,” said the lad firmly. 
“ But how did you get the news ?” 

“ It came through Andrew Forbes’s father — Mr. 
George Selby, as he calls himself now. He sent it to — 
to one of the gentlemen in the Palace. I must not 
mention names.” 

“ Ha — ha — ha !” laughed Frank scornfully. “ I 
thought it was some miserable, hatched-up lie. Mr. 
George Selby has been playing a contemptible, spy-like 
part, trying to gain over people in the Palace. He and 
his party tried to get me to join them.” 

“You, my boy?” cried Lady Gowan, in wonder; 
“ and you did not tell me.” 

“ No ; conspiracies are not for women to know any- 
thing about,” said the boy, talking grandly. “ But I 
did tell my father.” 

“ Yes ; and what did he say ?” 

“ Almost nothing. I forget now, mother. Treated 
it with contempt. There, I must go now.” 

“ Back under arrest ?” 

“Arrest? No, dear. I am the Prince’s page, and 
he knows now that I am no rebel. I am to go back to 
my duties as if nothing had happened.” 

Lady Gowan uttered a sigh full of relief. 

“ But I’m going to prove first of all how terribly 
wrong you have been, mother, in believing this miser- 
able scandal. It is because my poor father is down, and 
everybody is ready to trample upon him. But we’ll 


2 86 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


show them yet. You must be brave, mother, and look 
and speak as if now you did not believe a word about 
the story. Do as I will do ; go back to your place with 
the Princess, and hold up your head proudly." 

“ No, no, no, my boy ; I have been praying the Prin- 
cess to let us both go away from the court, for that our 
position here was horrible." 

“ Ah ! and what did she say ?" cried Frank excitedly. 

“ That it was impossible ; that we were not to blame, 
and that I was more her friend than ever." 

“ Oh, I do love the Princess !" cried the boy enthu- 
siastically. “ There, you see, she does not at heart 
believe the miserable tale. No, you shall not go away, 
mother ; it would be like owning that it was true. Be 
brave and good and full of faith. Father said I was to 
defend you while he was away, and I’m going to — 
against yourself while you are weak and ill. Oh, what 
lots of things you’ve taught me about trying to be brave 
and upright and true ; now I’m going to try and show 
you that I will. We cannot leave the court ; it would 
be dishonouring father. Good-bye till to-morrow. 
Oh, mother, how old all this makes me feel." 

“ My own boy !" 

‘‘ Yes, but I don’t feel a bit like a boy now, mother. 
It’s just as if I had been here for years. There, once 
more kiss me — good-bye !’’ 

“ My darling ! But what are you going to do ?’’ 

" Something to show you that father has been slan- 
dered. Good-bye ! To-morrow I shall make you laugh 
for joy." 

And tearing himself away from his mother’s clinging 
arms, the boy hurried out, down the stairs, and out into 
the courtyard, full of the plan now in his mind. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. 

M ORE sentries were about the Palace, and the 
guard-room was full of soldiers ; but no one in- 
terfered with the Prince’s page, who went straight to 
the gates, and without the slightest attempt at conceal- 
ment walked across to the banks of the canal, along by 
its edge to the end, passed round, and made for his 
father’s house. 

Twice over he saw men whom his ready imagination 
suggested as belonging to the corps of spies who kept 
the comers and goers from the Palace under observa- 
tion, but he would not notice them. 

“ Let them watch if they like. I’m doing something 
I’m proud of, and not ashamed.” 

In this spirit he made for the house, and reached it, 
to find that the battered door had been replaced by a 
new one, which looked bright and glistening in its coats 
of fresh paint. 

He knocked and rang boldly, and as he waited he 
glanced carelessly to right and left, to see that one of 
the men he had passed in the Park had followed, and 
was sauntering slowly along in his direction. 

“ How miserably ashamed of himself a fellow like 
that must feel !” he thought. 

At that moment there was the rattling of a chain in- 
side, and the door was opened as far as the links would 
allow. 

“ Oh, it’s you, Master Francis,” said the housekeeper, 
whose scared and troubled face began to beam with a 


288 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


smile ; and directly after he was admitted, and the door 
closed and fastened once more. 

Frank confined his words to friendly inquiries as to 
the old servant’s health, and she hesitated after reply- 
ing, as if expecting that he would begin to question 
her ; but he went on upstairs, and shut himself in the 
gloomy-looking room overlooking the Park. Then, 
obeying his first impulse, he walked to the window to 
throw back the shutters. 

“No. Wouldn’t do,’’ he said to himself. “ There is 
sure to be some one watching the house from the back, 
and it would show them that I came straight heie for 
some particular reason. I can manage in the dark.” 

It was not quite dark to one who well knew the place ; 
and with beating heart he went across to the picture, 
and, familiar now with the ingenious mechanism, he 
pressed the fastening, and then stood still, with the pic- 
ture turned so that the closet stood open before him. 

He hesitated, for though he was so full of hope that 
he felt quite certain that there would be some commu- 
nication from his father, he did not like to put it to the 
test for fear of disappointment. That he felt — after his 
brave defence of his father, and his belief that he would 
be able to find a letter which would sweep away all 
doubt and prove to his mother that she was wrong — 
would be almost unbearable, and so he waited for quite 
two minutes. 

“ Oh, what a coward I am,” he muttered at last ; and 
running his hand along the bottom shelf, he felt for the 
letter he hoped to find. 

His heart sank, for there was nothing there, and he 
hesitated once more, feeling that half his chance was 
gone. But there was the upper shelf, and once more 
with beating heart he began to pass his hand over it 
very slowly, and the next moment he touched a packet, 
which began to glide along the shelf. Then he started 
back, thrust to the canvas-covered panel and fastened 
it almost in one movement, turning directly after to face 



A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. 289 

the door, which was slowly opened, and a dimly seen 
hgure stepped forward, to stand gazing in. 

Why didn’t I lock the door after me ?” thought the 


The spy interrupts Frank in his search for the packet. 

*boy, who was half wild now with excitement and dread 
as he tried to make out by the few rays which struck 
across from the shutters who the man could be. 



290 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


That was too hard ; but it seemed from the attitude 
that his back was half turned to him, and that he was 
trying to see what was going on in the room. 

The next moment he had proof that he was right, for 
the dimly seen figure softly turned and gazed straight 
at where he stood. 

“ He must see me,” thought the boy ; and in his ex- 
citement he felt that he must take the aggressive, and 
began the attack. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he 
cried sharply. “ A thief ?” 

“ Oh no, young gentleman,” said a voice. “ What 
are you doing here ?” 

For answer Frank stepped quickly to the window and 
threw open one of the shutters, the light flashing in and 
showing him the face of the man he had passed in the 
Park, the man who had followed him into the street, 
and seen him enter the house. • 

“ Oh, I see,” said Frank contemptuously, — “ a spy.” 

“ A gentleman in the King’s service, boy, holding his 
Majesty’s warrant, and doing his duty. Why have you 
come here ?” 

“ Why have I come to my own house ? Go back out 
of here directly. How came the housekeeper to let you 
in ?” 

“ She did not, my good boy,” said the man quietly ; 
. “ and she did not put up the chain.” 

“ Then how did you get in, sir ?” 

“ With my key of course — intojj wur house.” 

“ Oh, this is insufferable !” panted Frank. “ While 
my father is away it is my house. I am his representa- 
tive, and I don’t believe his Majesty would warrant a 
miserable spy to use false keys to get into people’s 
homes.” 

“You have a sharp tongue for a boy,” said the man 
coolly ; “ but I must know why you have come, all the 
same.” 

“ Watch and spy, and find out then, you miserable, 


A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. 


291 


contemptible hound !” cried Frank in a rage — with the 
man for coming, and with himself for not having taken 
better precautions. For it was maddening. There was 
the letter waiting for him ; he had touched it ; and now 
he could not get at it for this man, who would not let 
him quit his sight, and perhaps after he was gone would 
search until he found it. 

The man looked hard at him for a few moments, but 
not menacingly. It was in the fashion of a man who 
was accustomed to be snubbed, bullied, and otherwise 
insulted, but did not mind these things in the least, so 
long as he could achieve his ends. He made Frank turn 
cold, though, with dread, for he began to look round 
the room, noticing everything in turn in search of the 
reason for the boy’s visit, for naturally he felt certain 
that there was some special reason, and he meant to 
find it out. 

Frank stood watching him fora while, and then, as 
the man did not walk straight at the picture, and begin 
to try if he could find anything behind, the boy began 
to pluck up courage, and, drawing a long breath by 
way of preparation, he said, as he stepped forward : 

“ Now, sir, I don’t feel disposed to leave you here 
while I go upstairs to my old room, so have the good- 
ness to leave.” 

“ When you do, Mr. Go wan — not before.” 

“ What !” cried Frank fiercely ; and he clapped his 
hand to where his sword should hang, but it had not 
been returned to him by the officer who arrested him, 
and he coloured with rage and annoyance. 

“Ah, you have no sword,” said the man coolly. 
“ Just as well, for )'ou would not be able to use it. At 
the least attempt at violence, one call from this whistle 
would bring help to the back and front of the house, 
and you would be arrested. I presume you do not 
want to be in prison again ?” 

“ What do you know about my being arrested ?’ 

“ There is not much that I do not know,” said the 


292 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


man, with a laugh. “ It is of no use to kick, my good 
sir. I only wish you to understand that violence will 
do no good.” 

“ Bah !” ejaculated Frank angrily ; and he walked 
straight out of the 100m on to the landing, trying to 
bang the door behind him ; but the man caught it, and 
came out quickly and quietly after him. 

“ What shall I do ?” thought Frank ; and for a mo- 
ment he was disposed to descend and leave the house, 
but he felt that he could not without first gaining pos- 
session of the letter. It would be impossible to bear the 
strain, especially with the accompaniment of the dread 
of its being discovered and placing information which 
might prove disastrous to his father in the hands of a 
spy. 

The next minute his mind was made up. He deter- 
mined to weary out the man if he could, while he on 
his part went up to his own old bedroom, which he used 
to occupy when he came home from school while his 
father and mother were in town. He would go up to 
it, and sit down and read if he could. The man should 
not come in there, of that he was determined ; and he 
felt that he must risk the fellow’s searching the place 
they had left. 

“ For if he has a key, he could come in at any time, 
and hunt about the place. But how did he get a key to 
fit the door ?” 

Frank thought for a few moments, and then it was 
plain enough : he had obtained it from the people who 
made the new door to the house. 

“ I must get the letter before I go,” thought the boy 
now, ‘‘so as to send word to father that he must not 
venture to come again, because the place is so closely 
watched ; and I must tell him of this piece of miserable 
intrusion.” 

He took a few steps down, and the man followed ; 
but before the landing was reached, he turned sharply 
round, and began to ascend rapidly. 


A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. 


2 93 


The man still followed close to bis elbow, and in this 
way the second floor was reached, where the door of 
Frank’s bedroom lay a little to the right. 

The last time he was up there he was in company 
with his father in the dark, on the night of the escape, 
and a faint thrill of excitement ran through him as he 
recalled all that had passed. 

He turned sharply to the spy, and said indignantly *. 

“ Look here, fellow, this is my bedroom and he 
pointed to the door. 

“Yes, I know,’’ said the man coolly; “but it’s a 
long time since you slept there.’’ 

“ And what’s that to you ? Go down. You are not 
coming in there.’’ 

“ I have the warrant of his Majesty’s Minister to go 
where I please on secret service, sir,“ said the man 
blandly ; “ and you, as one of the Prince’s household, 
dare not try to stop me.’’ 

“ Oh !’’ ejaculated the boy fiercely ; and seizing the 
door knob he turned it quickly, meaning to rush in, 
bang the door in the fellow’s face, and lock him 
out. 

“ Let him do his worst,’’ thought Frank, who was 
now beside himself with rage ; but he did not carry out 
his plan, for the door did not yield. It was locked, and 
as he rattled the knob his fingers rubbed against the 
handle of the key. 

Perhaps it was the friction against the steel which 
sent a flash of intelligence to his brain ; but whether or 
no the flash darted there, and lit up that which the 
moment before was very dark with something akin to 
despair. 

He rattled the handle to and fro several times ; and 
uttering an ejaculation full of anger, he threw himself 
heavily against the door, but it did not of course yield. 

“ Pooh !’’ he cried ; and letting go of the door knob, 
he seized the handle of the key, and dragged and dragged 
at it, making it grate and rattle among the wards, each 


294 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


moment growing more excited, and ended by snatching 
his hand away, and stamping furiously on the floor. 

“ Don’t stand staring there, idiot !” he ciied, with a 
flash of anger. “ Can’t you see that key won’t turn ?” 

“ Not if you drag at it like that,” said the man, smiling 
blandly. “ That is good for locksmiths, not for locks 
and stepping calmly forward, he took hold of the key, 
turned it slowly so that the bolt shot back with a sharp 
snap ; then, turning the knob, he opened the door, 
walked into the little bedroom, and stood back a little, 
holding it so that there was room for Frank to pass in. 

“ Bah !” ejaculated Frank savagely ; and he stepped 
in, raising his right hand, and making a quick menacing 
gesture, as if to strike the man a heavy blow across the 
face. 

Taken thoroughly by surprise by Frarfk’s feint, the 
spy made a step back, when, quick as thought, the boy 
seized the handle, drew it to him, banging the door and 
turning the key, and stood panting outside, his enemy 
shut safely within. 

“ Here, open this door !” cried the man ; and he 
began to thump heavily upon the panels. ” Quick ! 
before I break it down.” 

“ Break it down,” cried the boy tauntingly. “ How 
clever for a spy to walk into a trap like that.” 

There was a moment's silence, and then — as if long 
coming — something which resembled the echo of Frank’s 
angry stamp on the floor was heard, followed by a heavy 
bump. The man had thrown himself against the door. 

“ He won’t break out in a hurry,” muttered the boy ; 
and he ran to the staircase, and in familiar old fashion 
seized the rail, threw himself half over, and let himself 
slide down the polished mahogany to the first floor, 
where he rushed in, closed and locked the door of the 
room, hurried excitedly to the picture door of the closet, 
the portrait of his ancestor seeming to his excited fancy 
to smile approval, and, as he applied his hand to the 
fastening, he heard faintly a noise overhead. The next 


A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. 


295 


moment a chill ran through him, for the window of his 
bedroom had evidently been thrown open, and a clear, 
shrill whistle twice repeated rang out. 

“ That means help/’ thought Frank, and he hesi- 
tated ; but it was now or never, he felt, and opening the 
closet, he snatched the desired letter from the shelf, 
thrust it into his breast, and closed the closet once 
more. 

The whistle was sounded again, and a fresh thought 
assailed the boy. 

“ They’ll seize me, search me, and take the letter 
away. What shall I do ?” 

He ran to the window in time to see a strange man 
climb the rails, and drop into the garden, run toward 
the house, stoop down, and pick up something. 

“ The key that opens the front door,” cried Frank in 
despair. “ He must have thrown it out.” 

For a moment or two he stood helpless, unable to 
move ; then, recalling the fact that the man would have 
to run round to the front door, he darted out of the 
room, bounded down the staircase, reached the hall 
door, and with hands trembling from the great excite- 
ment in which he was, he slipped the top and bottom 
bolts. 

“Hah!” he ejaculated ; “ the key won’t open them.” 

Then, darting to the top of the stairs leading down to 
the housekeeper’s room, he ran almost into the old ser- 
vant’s arms. 

“Oh, Master Frank, was that you whistling, sir?” 
she cried. 

“ No ; that man upstairs.” 

“ What man upstairs, my dear ?” 

“ Hush ! Don’t stop me. Have you a fire there ?” 

“ Yes, my dear ; it is very chilly down in that stone- 
floored room, that I am obliged to have one lit.” 

“ That’s right. Go away ; I want to be there alone. 
And listen, Berry ; I have bolted the front door. If any 
one knocks, don’t go.” 


296 


IN HONOUR S CAUSE. 


“ Oh, my dear, don’t say people are coming to break 
it down again !” 

" Never you mind if they are. Get out of my way.” 

There was the rattling of a key faintly heard, and 
then bang, bang , bang , and the ringing of the bell. 

“ They’ve come,” said Frank. ” But never mind ; 
I’ll let them in before they break it.” 

There was a faint squeal from the kitchen just 
then. 

” Oh !” cried the housekeeper wildly, ” that girl will 
be going into fits again.” 

” Let her,” said Frank. ” Stop ! Is the area door 
fastened ?” 

” Oh yes, my dear. I always keep that locked.” 

Frank stopped to hear no more, but ran into the 
housekeeper’s room, whose window, well-barred, looked 
up a green slope toward the Park. 

There was a folding screen standing near the fire, a 
luxury affected by the old housekeeper, who used it to 
ward off draughts, which came through the window 
sashes, and the boy opened this a little to make sure 
that he was not seen by any one who might come and 
stare in. Then, standing in its shelter, he tore the letter 
from his breast pocket, broke the seal, opened it with 
trembling fingers, and began to read, with eyes begin- 
ning to dilate and a choking sensation rising in his 
breast. 

For it was true, then — the charge was correct. An- 
drew Forbes’s words had not been an insult, the Prince 
had told the simple fact. 

“ Oh, the shame of it !” panted the boy, as he read 
and reread the words couched in the most affectionate 
strain, telling him not to think ill of the father who 
loved him dearly, and begged of him to remember that 
father’s position, hopeless of being able to return from 
his exile, knowing that his life was forfeit, treated as if 
he were an enemy. So that in despair he had yielded 
to the pressure put upon him by old friends, and joined 


A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. 


297 


them in the bold attempt to place the crown upon the 
head of the rightful heir. 

“ Whatever happens, my boy, I leave your mother to 
you as your care.” 

Frank’s hands were cold and his forehead wet as he 
read these last words, and the affectionate, loving way 
in which his father concluded his letter, the last infor- 
mation being that he was in England, and had gone 
north to join friends who would shortly be marching on 
London. 

“ Burn this, the last letter I shall be able to leave for 
you, unless we triumph. Then we shall meet again.” 

“ ‘ Burn this,’ ” said Frank, in a strange, husky whis- 
per. “ Yes, I meant to burn this and in a curious, 
unemotional way, looking white and wan the while, he 
dropped the letter in the fire, and stood watching it as 
it blazed up till the flame drew near the great red wax 
seal bearing his father’s crest. This melted till the 
crest was blurred out, the wax ran and blazed, and in a 
few moments there was only a black, crumpled patch of 
tinder, over and about which a host of tiny sparks 
seemed to be chasing each other till all was soft and 
grey. 

“ I needn’t have burned it,” said the boy, in a low, 
pained voice. “ What does it matter now ?” 

He stood looking old and strange as he spoke. It 
did not seem a boy’s face turned to the fire, but that of 
an effeminate young man in some great suffering, as he 
said again, in a voice which startled him and made 
him shiver : 

” What does it matter now ?” 

He turned his head and listened then, before stooping 
to take up the poker and scatter the grey patch of ashes 
that still showed letters and words ; for he appeared to 
have suddenly awakened to the fact that the thundering 
of the knocker was still going on and the bell pealing. 

“ Hah !” he sighed ; ” I must go back and tell her I 
was wrong. Poor mother, what she must feel !” 


298 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


He moved slowly toward the door of the room, and 
then encountered the housekeeper standing at the foot 
of the stairs. 

“ Oh, my dear, my dear !” she moaned ; “ what shall 
we do ? I heard them send for hammers to break in 
again.” 

“ They will not, Berry,” he said quietly. “ I will go 
up and let them in.” 

“ Oh, my dear !” cried the woman, forgetting the 
noise at the front door. “ Don’t speak like that. What 
is the matter ? You’re white as ashes.” 

“ Matter?” he said, looking at the old woman wist- 
fully. “ Matter — ashes — yes, ashes. I can’t tell you, 
Berry. I’m ill. I feel as if — as if ” 

He did not finish the sentence aloud, but to himself, 
and he said : 

” As if my father I loved so were dead.” 

He walked quietly upstairs now into the hall, where 
there was the buzzing of voices coming in from the 
street, where people were collecting, and he distinctly 
heard some one say : 

“ Here they come.” 

It did not seem to him to matter who was coming ; 
and he wal'ked quietly to the door, shot back the bolts, 
and threw it open, for half a dozen men to make a dash 
forward to enter ; but the boy stood firmly in the open- 
ing, with his face flushing once more, and looking more 
like his old self. 

” Well,” he cried haughtily. ” What is it ?” 

” Mr. Bagot — Mr. Bagot ! Where is he ?” 

“ Bagot ? Do you mean the spy who insulted me ?” 

At the word ” spy” there was an angry groan from the 
gathering crowd, and the men begati to press forward. 

“ The fellow insulted me,” said Frank loudly, ” and 
I locked him in one of the upstairs rooms.” 

“ Hooray !” came from the crowd. “ Well done, 
youngster !•” And then there was a menacing hooting. 

“ Go and fetch him down,” continued Frank. 


A STIRRING ENCOUNTER. 


299 

“ Yah ! Spies !” came from the mob, and the men 
on the step gladly obeyed the order to go upstairs, and 
rushed into the house. 

“ Shall we fetch ’em out, sir,” cried a big, burly- 
looking fellow, “and take and pitch ’em in the 
river ?” 

“ No ; leave the miserable wretches alone,” said the 
boy haughtily. “ Don’t touch them, if they go quietly 
away.” 

“ Hooray !” shouted the crowd ; and then all waited 
till Bagot came hurriedly down, white with anger, 
followed by his men, and seized Frank by the shoul- 
der. 

“ You’re my prisoner, sir.” 

” Stand off !” cried the lad fiercely ; and he wrenched 
himself free, just as the mob, headed by the burly man, 
dashed forward. 

“ You put a finger on him again, and we’ll hang the 
lot of you to the nearest lamps !” roared the man 
fiercely ; and the party crowded together, while Frank 
seized the opportunity to close the door. 

“ Look here, fellow,” he said haughtily. “ I am 
going back to the Palace. You can follow, and ask if 
you are to arrest me there.” Then turning to the 
crowd : 

“ Thank you, all of you ; but they will not dare to 
touch me, and if you wish me well don’t hurt these 
men. ” 

“ Ur-r-r !” growled the crowd. 

“ Look here, you,” cried Frank, turning to the leader 
of the little riot. “ I ask you to see that no harm is 
done to them. ” 

“ Then they had better run for it, squire,” cried the 
man, ” If they’re here in a minute, I won’t answer for 
what happens.” 

“ Then let your lads see me safely back to my quar- 
ters,” said the boy, as a happy thought ; and starting 
off, the crowd followed him cheering to the Palace 


3 °° 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


gates, where they were stopped by the sentries ; and 
they cheered him loudly once more as he walked slowly 
by the soldiery. 

“Arrested again!” said Frank softly. “Well, if I 
can only go and see her first, it does not matter now,” 


i ! * 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


FRANK ASKS LEAVE TO GO. 

“ 'V/’ES, ” said Lady Gowan sadly, after her meeting 
J with her son, “it is terrible ; but after all 
my teaching, telling you of your duty to be loyal to 
those whom we serve and who have been such friends 
to us, I could not nerve myself to tell you the dreadful 
truth. You are right, my boy. More than ever now 
we are out of place here ; we must go.” 

“ Yes, mother,” said the boy gravely, “ we must go.” 

“ Let me read the letter, Frank.” 

“ Read it, mother ? I have repeated every word. It 
wanted no learning. I knew it when I had read it 
once.” 

“ Yes ; but I must read your father’s letter to you 
myself.” 

“ How could I keep it ?” he said, almost fiercely. 
“ I expected to be arrested and searched. It is burned.” 

Lady Gowan uttered a weary sigh, and clung to her 
boy’s hand. 

“ Going, dear ?” she said ; “so soon ?” 

“ Yes, mother ; I have so much to do. I can’t stay 
now. Perhaps I shall be a prisoner again after this 
business, and coming back here protected by a riotous 
crowd. ” 

“ No, no, dear ; the Prince, however stern his father 
may be, is just, and he will not punish you.” 

“ I don’t know,” said the boy drearily. “ I want to 
do something before I am stopped and he hurried 
away, looking older and more careworn than ever, to go 


3°2 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


at once to the officers’ quarters, intending to see Cap- 
tain Murray ; but the first person he met was the doc- 
tor, who caught him by the arm, and almost dragged 
him into his room. 

“Sit down there,” he cried sharply, as he scanned 
the boy with his searching gaze 

“ Don’t stop me, sir, please ,’ 5 said Frank appeal- 
ingly, “ I asn very busy. Do you want me V* 

“ No ; but you look as if you want me.” 

“ No, sir — no.” 

“ But I say you do. Don’t contraaict me. Think I 
don’t know what I’m saying ? You do want me. A 
boy of your years has no business to look like that. 
What have you been doing ? Why, your pulse is gal- 
loping nineteen to the dozen, and your head’s as hot as 
fire. You’ve been eating too much, you voracious 
young wolf. It’s liver and bile. All light, my fine 
fellow ! Pill hydrarg., to-night, and to-morrow morn- 
ing a delicious goblet before breakfast — sulph. mag., 
tinct. sennae, ditto calumba. That will set you right.” 

Frank looked at him for a moment piteously, and 
then burst into a strange laugh. 

“ Eh, hallo !” cried the doctor ; “ don’t laugh in that 
maniacal way, boy. Have I got hold of the pig by the 
wrong tail ? Bah ! I mean the wrong tail by the pig. 

Nonsense ! nonsense ! I mean the wrong pig by 

Oh, I see now. Why, Frank, my boy, of course. Ah, 
poor lad ! poor lad ! Murray has been telling me. 
Well, it’s a bad job, and I shouldn’t have thought it of 
Rob Gowan. But there, I don’t know : hwnanum est 
errare. Not so much erroring in it either. Circum- 
stances alter cases, and I dare say that if I were kicked 
out of the army, and I had a chance to be made chief 
surgeon to the forces of you know whom, I should 
accept the post.” 

The boy’s head sank down upon his hands, and he 
did not seem to hear the doctor’s words. 

“ Poor lad !” he continued ; “ it’s a very sad affair, 


FRANK ASKS LEAVE TO GO. 


303 


and I’m very sorry for you. I always liked your father, 
and I never disliked you, which is saying a deal, for I 
hate boys as a rule. Confounded young monkeys, and 
no good whatever, except to get into mischief. There, 
I see now — ought to have seen it with half an eye. 
There, there, there, my lad ; don’t take on about it. 
Cheer up ! You’re amongst friends who like you, and 
the sun will come out again, even if it does get behind 
the black clouds sometimes.” 

He patted the boy’s shoulder, and stroked his back, 
meaning, old bachelor as he was, to be very tender and 
fatherly ; but it was clumsily done, for the doctor had 
never served his time to playing at being father, and 
begun by practising on babies. Hence he only irritated 
the boy. 

“ He talks to me and pats me as if I were a dog,” 
said Frank to himself ; and he would have manifested 
his annoyance in some way to one who was doing his 
best, when fortunately there was a sharp rap at the 
door, and a familiar voice cried : 

“ May I come in, doctor ?” 

“ No, sir, no. I’m particularly engaged. Oh, it’s 
you, Murray ! — Mind his coming in, Gowan ?” 

“ Oh no ; I want to see him !” cried the boy, spring- 
ing up. 

“ Come in !” shouted the doctor. 

“You here, Frank?” said the captain, holding out 
his hands, in which the boy sadly placed his own, but 
withdrew them quickly. 

“Yes, of course he is,” said the doctor testily. 
“ Came to see his friends. In trouble, and wants com- 
forting.” 

“Yes,” said Captain Murray quietly, as he laid his 
hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “ Then you know the 
truth now, Frank ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the boy humbly. “ I was coming to 
apologise to you, when the doctor met me and drew me 
in here.” 


3°4 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Yes ; looked so ill. Thought I’d got a job to tinker 
him up ; but he only wants a bit of comforting, to show 
him he’s amongst friends.” 

” You were coming to do what, boy ?” said the cap- 
tain, as soon as he could get in a word, — “ apologise ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; I was very obstinate and rude to you.” 

“ Yes, thank goodness, my lad !” cried the captain, 
holding the boy by both shoulders now, as he hung his 
head. ” Look up. Apologise ! Why, Frank, you 
made me feel very proud of my old friend’s son. I 
always liked you, boy ; but never half so well as when 
you spoke out as you did to the Prince. So you know 
all now .?” 

“ Yes,” said the boy bitterly. 

“ How ?” 

“ My father has written to me telling me it is true.” 

“ Hah ! Well, it’s a bad job, my lad ; but we will 
not judge him. Robert Gowan must have suffered bit- 
terly, and been in despair of ever coming back, before 
he changed , his colours. But we can’t see why, and 
how things are. I want no apology, Frank, only for 
you to come to me as your father’s old friend.” 

Frank looked at him wonderingly. 

“ Come with me, boy.” 

Frank looked at him still, but his eyes were wistful 
now and full of question. 

“ I want you to come with me to the Prince.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Frank gravely. “ I want to beg for 
an audience before I go.” 

“ Before you go, Frank ?” 

“ Yes, sir. Of course we cannot stay here now.” 

“ Humph ! Ah, yes, I see what you mean,” said the 
captain quietly. ” Well, come. You are half a soldier, 
Frank, and the Prince is a soldier. I want you to come 
and speak out to him, and apologise as you did to me — 
like a man.’ ’ 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Frank, “ that is what I wished to 
do.” 


FRANK ASKS LEAVE TO GO. 


3°S 

“ Then forward !” cried the captain. “ Let’s make 
our charge, even if we are repulsed.” 

“ Good-bye, and thank you, doctor,” said Frank. 

“ What for ? Pooh ! nonsense, my lad ; that’s all 
right. And, I say, people generally come and see me 
when they want something, physic or plasters, or to 
have bullet holes stopped up, or arms and legs sewn on 
again. Don’t you wait for anything of that sort, 
boy ; you come sometimes for a friendly bit of 
chat.” 

Frank smiled gratefully, but shook his head as he fol- 
lowed Captain Murray out into the stable-yard. 

“ Come along, Frank ; there’s nothing like making a 
bold advance, and getting a trouble over. We may not 
be able to get an audience with so many officers coming 
and going ; but I’ll send in my name.” 

Frank followed him into the anteroom, the place look- 
ing strange to him, and seeming as if it were a year 
since he had been there last, a fancy assisted by the fact 
that some five-and-twenty officers, whose faces were 
strange, stood waiting their turns when Captain Murray 
sent in his name by a gentleman in attendance. 

But, bad as the prospect looked, they did not have 
long to wait, for, at the end of about a quarter of an 
hour, the attendant came out, passing over all those 
who looked up eagerly ready to answer to their names, 
and walked to where Captain Murray was seated talk- 
ing in a low voice to Frank. 

” His Royal Highness will see you at once, gentle- 
men.” 

Frank did not feel in the slightest degree nervous as 
he entered, but followed the captain with his head erect, 
ready to speak out and say that for which he had come, 
when the Prince condescended to hear ; but he took no 
notice of the boy at first, raising his head at last from 
his writing, and saying : 

“ Well, Captain Murray, what news ?” 

“ None, your Royal Highness,” said the soldier 


3o6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


bluffly. “ I have only come to bring Frank Gowan, 
your page, before you.” 

“ Eh ? Oh yes. The boy who was so impudent, and 
told me I was no speaker of the truth.” 

“ I beg your Royal Highness’s pardon.” 

“ And you ought, boy. What more have you to 
say ?’ ' 

“ That I was wrong, sir. I believed it could not be 
true. I have found out since that it was as you said.” 

“ Hah ! You ought always to believe what a royal 
personage says — eh, Murray ?” 

The captain bowed, and smiled grimly. 

“ Don’t agree with* me,” said the Prince sharply. 
“ Well, boy, you are very sorry, eh ?” 

‘‘Yes, your Royal Highness, I am very sorry,” said 
Frank firmly. “ 1 know better now, and I apologise to 
you.” 

The Prince, moving himself round in his chair, frown- 
ing to hide a feeling of amusement, stared hard at the 
lad as if to look him down, and frowned in all serious- 
ness as he found the boy looked him full in the eyes 
without a quiver of the lid. 

“ Humph ! So you, my page, consider it your duty 
to come and apologise to me for doubting my word ?” 

*.‘ Yes, your Highness, and to ask your forgiveness.” 

“ And suppose I refuse to give it to so bold and im- 
pudent a boy, what then ?” and he gazed hard once 
more in the lad’s flushing face. 

“ I should be very, very sorry, sir ; for you and the 
Princess have been very good and kind to my poor 
mother and me.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the Prince, “ too kind, perhaps, to 
have such a return as ” 

He stopped short as he saw a spasm contract the boy’s 
features. 

“ But there,” he continued, “ you are not to blame, 
and I do forgive you, boy. I liked the bold, brave way 
in which you showed your belief in your father.” 


FRANK ASKS LEAVE TO GO. 


3 ° 7 


Captain Murray darted a quick glance at his young 
companion, as much as to say, “ I told you so.” 

“ Go on, my boy, as you have begun, and you will 
make a firm, strong, trustworthy man ; and, goodness 
knows, we want them badly enough. There, I will not 
say any more — yes, I will one word, my boy. I am 
sorry that your father was not recalled some time back. 
He was a brave soldier, for whom I felt respect.” 

Frank could bear no more, and he bent his head to 
conceal the workings of his face. 

“ There, take him away, Murray, and keep him under 
your eye. There’s good stuff in the boy, and we must 
get him a commission as soon as he is old enough.” 

“ No, your Highness,” said Frank, recovering him- 
self. 

“Eh? What?” 

“ I came to beg your Royal Highness’s pardon, and 
to ask your permission for my mother and me to leave 
the royal service at once. We both feel that it is not 
the place for us now.” 

“ Humph !” ejaculated the Prince, frowning ; “and 
I think differently. Take him away, Murray ; the boy 
is hurt — wounded now. — That will do, Gowan ; go. 
No : I refuse absolutely. The Princess does not wish 
Lady Gowan to leave ; and / wantjjwY. ” 

” There !” cried Captain Murray, as they crossed the 
courtyard on their way back to the officers’ quarters ; 
“ it is what I expected of the Prince. You can’t leave 
us unless you run away, Frank ; and you’ve proved 
yourself too much of a gentleman for that. You see, 
everybody wants you here.” 

Frank could not trust himself to speak, for he was, 
in spite of his troubles, some years short of manhood 
and manhood’s strength. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


THE WORST NEWS. 


EXT morning Frank rose in his old quarters, 



1M firmly determined to keep to his decision. It 
was very kind and generous of the Prince, he felt ; but 
his position would be intolerable, and his mother would 
not be able to bear an existence fraught with so much 
misery ; and, full of the intention to see her and beg 
her to prevail on the Princess to let them leave, he 
waited his time. 

But it did not come that day. He had to return to 
his duties in the Prince’s anteroom, and at such times as 
he was free he found that his mother was engaged with 
her royal mistress. 

The next day found him more determined than ever ; 
but another, a greater, and more unexpected obstacle 
was in the way. He went to his mother’s apartments, 
to find that, worn out with sorrow and anxiety, she had 
taken to her bed, and the Princess’s physician had seen 
her and ordered complete rest, and that she should be 
kept free from every anxiety. 

“ How can I go now !” thought the boy ; “ and how 
can she be kept free from anxiety !” 

It was impossible in both cases, while with the latter 
every scrap of news would certainly be brought to her, 
for the Palace hummed with the excitement of the 
troubles in the north ; and as the day glided by there 
came the news that the Earl of Mar had set up the 
standard of the Stuarts in Scotland, and proclaimed 
Prince James King of Great Britain ; but the Pretender 


THE WORST NEWS. 


309 


himself remained in France, waiting for the promised 
assistance of the French Government, which was slow 
in coming. 

Still the Scottish nobles worked hard in the Prince’s 
cause, and by degrees the Earl of Mar collected an army 
of ten thousand fighting men, including the staunch 
Highlanders, who readily assumed claymore and target 
at the gathering of the clans. 

It was over the English rising that Frank was the 
more deeply interested, and he eagerly hungered for 
every scrap of news which was brought to the Palace, 
Captain Murray hearing nearly everything, and readily 
responding to the boy’s questions, though he always 
shook his head and protested that it would do harm and 
unsettle him. 

“ You’d better shut up your ears, Frank lad, and go 
on with your duties,” he said one day. “ But tell me 
first, what is the last news about Lady Gowan ?” 

“ 111, very ill,” said the boy wearily. “ All this is 
killing her.” 

“ Then the bad news ought to be kept from her.” 

“ Bad news !” gasped Frank. “Is it then so bad ?” 

“ Of course ; isn’t it all bad ?” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated the boy ; “I thought there was 
something fresh — something terrible. But how can the 
news be kept from her ? The Princess goes and sits 
with her every day, and then tells her everything. She 
learns more than I do, and gets it sooner ; but I can’t 
go and ask her, for I always feel as if it were cruel and 
torturing her to make her speak about our great trouble 
while she is so ill. Now, tell me all you know.” 

“ It is not much, boy. The Duke of Argyle is busy ; 
he is now appointed to the command of the King’s 
forces in Scotland, and some troops are being landed 
from Ireland to join his clans.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but in England ?” cried the boy. “ My 
father is not in Scotland. It is about what is going on 
in England that I want to know.” 


3 10 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


It was always the same, and by degrees, as the days 
went by, Frank learned that his father had, with other 
gentlemen, joined the Earl of Derwentwater, and that 
they were threatening Newcastle. 

It seemed an age before the next tidings came, and 
Frank’s heart sank, while those in the Palace were hold- 
ing high festival, for the Pretender’s little army there 
had been beaten off, and was in retreat through Cum- 
berland on the way to Lancashire. 

A little later came news that in the boy’s secret heart 
made him rejoice and brought gloom into the Palace. 
For it soon leaked out that the county militias had been 
assembled hastily to check the Pretender’s forces, but 
only to be put to flight and scattered in all directions. 

Then despatch after despatch reached the Palace 
from the north, all containing bad news. The rebels 
had marched on, carrying everything before them till 
they neared Preston in triumph. 

“ Then they’ll go on increasing in strength,” whis- 
pered Frank, as he sat with Captain Murray on the 
evening of the receipt of that news, “ and march right 
on to London !” 

“ Want them to ?” said the captain drily. 

“ Yes — no — no — yes — I don’t know.” 

“ Nice loyal sort of a servant the Prince has got,” 
said the captain. 

“ Don’t talk to me like that, Captain Murray,” said 
the boy passionately. “ I feel that I hate for the rebels 
to succeed ; but how can I help wishing my father suc- 
cess ?” 

“ No, you cannot,” said the captain quietly. ” But 
he will not succeed, my lad. He and the others are in 
command of a mere rabble of undisciplined men, and 
before long on their march they will be met by some of 
the King’s forces sent to intercept them.” 

“ Yes, yes,” cried the boy, with his cheeks flushing, 
” and then ?” 

“ What is likely to happen in spite of the training of 


THE WORST NEWS. 


3ii 

the leaders ? The undrilled men cannot stand against 
regular troops, even if they are enthusiastic. No : dis- 
aster must come sooner or later, and then there is only 
one chance for us, Frank.” 

“ For us ? I thought you said that the King’s troops 
would win.” 

“ Yes, and they will. I as a soldier feel that it must 
be so. We shall win ; but I say there is only one 
chance for us as friends — a quick escape for your father 
to the coast and taking refuge in France. We must not 
have him taken, Frank, come what may.” 

“ Thank you, Captain Murray,” said the boy, laying 
his hand on his friend’s sleeve. “ You have made me 
happier than I have felt for days.” 

“ And it sounds very disloyal, my boy ; but I can’t 
help my heart turning to my old friend to wish him safe 
out of the rout.” 

” Then you think it will be a rout ?” panted Frank. 

“ It must be sooner or later. They may gain a few 
little advantages by surprise, or the cowardice of the 
troops ; but those successes can’t last, and when the 
defeat comes it will be the greater, and mean a com- 
plete end to a mad scheme.” 

” But the Prince must be with them by this time, sir.” 

“ The Pretender ? No ; he is still in France without 
coming forward, and leaving the misguided men who 
would place him on the throne to be slaughtered for 
aught he seems to care.” 

Captain Murray proved to be a true prophet, for he 
had spoken on the basis of his experience of what prop- 
erly trained men could do against troops hastily col- 
lected, and badly armed men whose discipline was of 
the rudest description. 

Sooner even than the captain had anticipated the 
news came in a despatch brought from the north of 
England. The Pretender’s forces, under Lords Der- 
wentwater, Kenmuir, and Nithsdale, were encountered 


3 12 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


by the King’s troops ; and before the two bodies joined 
battle a summons was sent to the rebel army calling 
upon the men to lay down their arms or be attacked 
without mercy. 

The Pretender’s generals tried to treat the summons 
to surrender with contempt, laughed at it, and bade 
their followers to stand fast and the victory would be 
theirs. But, in spite of the exhortations of their officers, 
the sight of the King’s regular troops drawn up in battle 
array proved too much for the raw forces. Probably 
they were wearied with marching and the many diffi- 
culties they had had to encounter. Their enthusiasm 
leaked out, life seemed far preferable to death, and they 
surrendered at discretion. 

There was feasting and rejoicing at St. James’s that 
night, when the news came of the bloodless victory ; 
while in one of the apartments mother and son were 
shut up alone in the agony of their misery and despair, 
for whatever might be the fate of the common people of 
the Pretender’s army, the action of the King toward all 
who opposed him was known to be of merciless severity. 
The leaders of the rebellion could expect but one fate — 
death by the executioner. 

“ But, mother, mother ! oh, don’t give way to despair 
like that,” cried Frank. “ We have heard so little yet. 
Father would fight to the last before he would fly ; but 
when all was over he would be too clever for the enemy, 
and escape in safety to the coast.” 

“ No,” said Lady Gowan, in tones which startled her 
son. ” Your father, Frank, would never desert the men 
he had led. It would be to victory or death. It was 
not to victory they marched that day.” 

“ But his name is not mentioned in the despatch.” 

“ No,” said Lady Gowan sadly.. “ Nor is that of 
Colonel Forbes.” 

“ Ah !” cried Frank ; ” and poor Drew, he would be 
there.” 

At last he was compelled to quit the poor suffering 


THE WORST NEWS. 


3i3 


woman ; but before going to his own chamber, he went 
over to the officers’ quarters, to try and see- Captain 
Murray. 

There was a light in his room and the sound of voices 
in earnest conversation ; and Frank was turning back, 
to go and sit alone in his despair, when he recognised 
the doctor’s tones, and he knocked and entered. 

The eager conversation stopped on the instant, as the 
two occupants of the room saw the boy’s anxious white 
face looking inquiringly from one to the other. 

“ Come in and sit down,” said Captain Murray, in a 
voice which told of his emotion ; “sit down, my 
boy.” 

Frank obeyed in silence, trying hard to read the cap- 
tain’s thoughts. 

“ You have come from your mother ?” 

“ Yes ; she is very ill.” 

“ She has heard of the disaster, then ?” 

“ Yes. The Princess went and broke it to her as 
gently as she could.” 

“ And she told you ?” 

“ Yes ; she sent for me as soon as she heard.” 

“ Poor lady !” said the captain. 

“Amen to that,” said the doctor huskily ; and he 
pulled out his snuff-box, and took three pinches in suc- 
cession, making himself sneeze violently as an excuse 
for taking out his great red-and-yellow. silk handker- 
chief and using it to a great extent. 

“ Hah !” he said at last, as he looked across at Frank, 
with his eyes quite wet ; “ and poor old Robert Gowan ! 
Rebel, they call him ; but we here, Frank, can only look 
upon him as brother more than friend.” 

“But,” cried the boy passionately, “there is hope 
for him yet. He is not taken, in spite of what my 
mother said. He would have escaped to the coast, and 
made again for France.” 

“What did your mother say?” asked Captain Mur- 
ray, looking at the boy fixedly. 


3H 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ My mother say ? That my father would never 
forsake the men whom he was leading to victory or 
death.” 

“ Yes ; she was right, Frank, my lad. He would 
never turn his back on his men to save himself.” 

“ Of course not, till the day was hopelessly lost.” 

“ Not when the day was hopelessly lost, ” said Cap- 
tain Murray, so sternly that Frank took alarm. 

” Why do you speak to me like that ?” he cried, ris- 
ing from his seat. “ His name was not in the despatch. 
Ah ! you have heard. There is something worse be- 
hind. Oh, Captain Murray, don’t say that he was 
killed.” 

“ I say,” said that officer sadly, “ it were better that 
he had been killed — that he had died leading his men, 
as a brave officer should die.” 

“ Then he did not,” cried Frank, with a hoarse sigh 
of relief. 

“ No, he escaped that.” 

“ And to liberty ?” 

” No, my boy, no,” said the doctor, uttering a groan. 

“ But I tell you that his name was not in the despatch. 
He couldn’t have been taken prisoner.” 

There was silence in the room, and the candles for 
want of snuffing were very dim. 

“ Why don’t you speak to me ?” cried Frank passion- 
ately. “ Am I such a boy that you treat me as a 
child ?” 

“ My poor lad ! You must know the truth,” said 
Captain Murray gently. ‘‘Your father’s and Colonel 
Forbes’s names are both in the despatch as prisoners.” 

“ No, no, no !” cried Frank wildly. “ The Prin 
cess ’ ’ 

“ Kept the worst news back, to try and spare your 
poor mother pain. It is as I always feared.” 

“Then you are right,” moaned Frank; and he 
uttered a piteous cry. ‘‘ Yes, it would have been better 
if he had died.” 


THE WORST NEWS. 


3i5 


For the headsman’s axe seemed to be glimmering 
in the black darkness ahead, and he shuddered as 
he recalled once more what he had seen on Tem- 
ple Bar. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


UNDER THE DARK CLOUD, 


HERE was no waiting for news now. Despatch 



X succeeded despatch rapidly, and the occupants 
of the Palace were made familiar with the proceedings 
in the north ; and as Frank heard more and more of the 
disastrous tidings he was in agony, and at last an- 
nounced to Captain Murray that he could bear it all no 


longer, 


“ I must go and join my father,'' he said one day. 
“ It is cruel and cowardly to stay here in the midst of 
all this luxury and rejoicing, while he is being dragged 
up to London like a criminal/’ 

“ Have you told Lady Gowan of your intentions ?” 
said the captain quietly. 

“Told her? No!” cried Frank excitedly. “Why, 
in her state it would half kill her.'"’ 

“ And if you break away from here and go to join 
your father, it would quite kill her.” 

Frank looked at him aghast, and the captain went 
on : 

“ We must practise common sense, Frank, and not 
act madly at a time like this.” 

“ Is it to act madly to go and help one’s father in his 
great trouble ?” 

“ No ; you must help him, but in the best way.” 

“ That is the best way,” said the boy hotly. 

“ No. What would you do ?” 

“ Go straight to him, and try and make his lot more 
bearable. Think how glad he would be to see me.” 


UNDER THE DARK CLOUD. 


3U 


Of course he would, and then he would blame you 
for leaving your mother’s side when she is sick and 
suffering. ” 

But this is such a terrible time of need. I must go 
to him ; but I wanted to be straightforward and tell 
you first.” 

“ Good lad.” 

“ Think what a terrible position mine is, Captain 
Murray.” 

“ I do, boy, constantly ; but I must, as your friend 
and your father’s, 15pk at the position sensibly.” 

“ Oh, you are so cold and calculating, when my 
father’s life is at stake.” 

“Yes. I don’t want you to do anything that would 
injure him.” )' 

“ I — injure him !*’ * * 

“Yes, boy.” V ; * /' 

“ But I only want to be b’y his side.” 

44 Well, to do that you wotild run away from here, for 
the Prince would not let ypu go.” 

44 No, he will not. I asked him.” 

“You did?” 

‘‘Yes, two days ^ 

“ Then if you go without leave, you will make a good 
friend angry.’ ’ 

“ Perhaps so ; but I cannot stay away.” 

‘‘ You must, boy, for it would be injuring your 
father ; and, look here, if you went, you could not get 
near the prisoners. Those who have them in charge 
would not let you pass.” 

“ But I would get a permission from the King.” 

“ Rubbish, boy ! He would not listen to you. He 
might as a man be ready to pardon your father ; but as 
King he would feel that he could not. No ; I must 
speak plainly to you : his Majesty will deal sternly with 
the prisoners, to make an example for his enemies, and 
show them the folly of attempting to shake his position 
on the throne.” 


3i8 


IN HONOUR S CAUSE. 


“ Oh, Captain Murray ! Captain Murray !” cried the 
boy. 

“ Look here, Frank lad. Your journey to meet the 
prisoners would be an utter waste of energy, and you 
would most likely miss them, for to avoid the possi- 
bility of attempts at rescue their escort would probably 
take all kinds of byways and be constantly changing 
their route.” 

“ But I should have tried to help my father, even if I 
failed.” 

“Don’t run the risk of failure, boy,” said the cap- 
tain earnestly. “ Our only hopes lie in the Prince and 
Princess. The Prince would, I feel sure, spare your 
father’s life if he could, for the sake of his wife’s friend. 
But he is not king, only a subject like ourselves, and he 
will be governed by his father and his father’s Minis- 
ters. Now you see that you must not alienate our only 
hope by doing rash things.” 

Frank looked at him in despair. 

“ Now do you see why I oppose you ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the boy despondently. “ Oh, how 
I wish I were wise !” 

“ There is only one way to grow wise, Frank : learn 
— think and calculate before you make a step. Now, 
look here, my boy. The Prince has plenty of good 
points in his character. He likes you ; and he shall be 
appealed to through your mother and the Princess. 
Now, promise me that you will do nothing rashly, and 
that you will give up this project.” 

“ Should I be right in giving it up ?” 

“ Yes,” said the captain emphatically. 

“ But what will my father .think ? I shall seem to be 
forsaking him in his great trouble. ” 

“ He will think you are doing your duty, and are try- 
ing hard to save his life. Come, don’t be down-hearted, 
for we are all at work. There is our regiment to count 
upon yet — the King’s own Guards, who will, to a man, 


UNDER THE DARK CLOUD. 


3i9 

join in a prayer to his Majesty to spare the life of the 
most popular officer in the corps.” 

‘‘Ah ! yes,” cried Frank. 

“ I don’t want even to hint at mutiny ; but the King 
at a time like this would think twice before refusing the 
prayer of the best regiment in his service.” 

“ Oh, Captain Murray !” cried the lad excitedly. 
“ I will promise everything. I will go by your advice.” 

“ That’s right, my lad ; my head is a little older than 
yours, you know. Now, go back to your duties, and 
let the Prince see that his page is waiting hopefully and 
patiently to see how he will help him. Go to your 
mother, too, all you can, and tell her, to cheer her up, 
that we are all hard at work, and that no stone shall be 
left unturned to save Sir Robert’s life.” 

Frank caught the captain’s hands in his, and stood 
holding them for a few moments before hurrying out of 
the room. 

Then more news came of each day’s march, and of 
the slow approach of the prisoners — the leaders only, 
the rest being imprisoned in Cheshire and Lancashire to 
await their fate. 

It was hard work, but Frank kept his word, trying to 
be more energetic than ever over his duties, and finding 
that he was not passing unnoticed, for every morning 
the Prince gave him a quiet look of recognition, or a 
friendly nod, but never once spoke. 

The most painful part of his life in those days was in 
his visits to his mother. These were agony to him, 
feeling as he did more and more how utterly insignifi- 
cant and helpless he was ; but he had one satisfaction 
to keep him going and make him look forward long- 
ingly for the next meeting — paradoxical as it may sound 
— so as to suffer more agony and despair, for he could 
plainly see that his mother clung to him now as her 
only stay, and that she was happiest when he was with 


3 2 ° 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


her, and begged and prayed of him to come back to her 
as soon as he possibly could, now that she was so weak 
and ill. 

“ I believe, my darling,” she whispered one even* 
ing, “ that I should have died if you had not been 
here. ” 

“Yes, my lad,” said the Princess’s physician to him 
as well ; “ you must be with Lady Gowan as much as 
you can. Her illness is mental, and you can do more 
for her now than I can. Ha — ha 1 I shall have to resign 
my post to you.” 

“ Yes,” said the boy to himself, “ Captain Murray is 
quite right and he went straight to his friend’s quar- 
ters, as he often did, to give him an account of his 
mother’s state. 

“Yes, sir,” he said; “you were quite right: it 
would have killed her if I had gone away.” 

“ Come, you are beginning to believe in me, Frank. 
Now I have some news for you.” 

“ About Drew Forbes ?” cried Frank eagerly. 

“ No ; I have made all the inquiries I can, but I can 
hear nothing of the poor fellow. His father is with 
yours ; but the lad seems to have dropped out of sight, 
and I have my fears.” 

“ Oh, don’t say that,” cried Frank excitedly ; “ he 
was so young.” 

“ Yes,” said the captain grimly ; “ but in a fight 
young and old run equal chances, while in the exposure 
and suffering of forced marches the young and untried 
fare worse than the old and seasoned. Drew Forbes 
was a weak, girlish fellow, all brain and no muscle. I 
am in hopes, though, that he may have broken 
down, and be lying sick at some cottage or farm 
house.” 

“ Hopes !” cried Frank. 

“ Yes, he may get well with rest. Better than being 
well and strong, and on his way to suffer by the rope or 
axe.” 


UNDER THE DARK CLOUD. 


3 21 


Frank shuddered. 

Now then,” cried the captain sharply, to change 
the conversation ; ” you found my advice good ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Frank. 

“ Then take some more. Look here, Frank ; the 
doctor and I were talking about you last night, and he 
is growing very anxious. He said the blade was wear- 
ing out the scabbard, and that you were making an old 
man of yourself.” 

“ Not a young one yet,” said the boy, smiling 
sadly. 

“ Never mind that. You’ll grow old soon enough. 
He says what I think, that you never go out, and that 
you will break down.” 

“ Oh, absurd ! I don’t want exercise.” 

For answer the captain clapped him on the shoulder, 
and twisted him round. 

“ Look at your white face in the glass, my boy. 
Don’t risk illness. You will want all your strength 
directly in the fight for life to come. Your father will, 
in all probability, reach London to-morrow.” 

“ Ah !” cried Frank excitedly. 

“ Yes ; we had news this morning by the messenger 
who brought the royal despatches. The colonel had a 
brief letter. Get leave to go out to-morrow, and come 
with me.” 

“ Yes, where?” 

“ We’ll try and meet the escort, and see your father, 
even if we cannot speak.” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated Frank ; and, utterly worn out 
with anxiety and want of proper food, he reeled, a 
deathly feeling of sickness seized him, and his eyes 
closed. 

When he opened them again he was lying upon the 
captain’s couch, with his temples and hair wet, and 
he looked wonderingly in the face of his father’s 
friend. 

“Better?” 


3 22 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Yes ; what is it ? Oh my head ! the room’s going 
round. ” 

“ Drink,” said the captain. ** That’s better. It will 
soon go off.” 

” But why did I turn like that ?” 

“ From weakness, lad. Shall I send for the doc- 
tor ?” 

“ No, no,” cried Frank, struggling up into a sitting 
position. “ I’m better now. How stupid of me !” 

“ Nature telling you she has been neglected, my lad. 
You have not eaten much lately ?” 

“ I couldn’t.” 

” Nor slept well ?” 

“ Horribly. I could only lie and think.” 

” And you have not been outside the walls ?” 

“ No ; I have felt ashamed to be seen, and as if peo- 
ple would look at me and say, ‘ His father is one of the 
prisoners.’ ” 

” All signs of weakness, as the doctor would say. 
Now you want to be strong enough to go with me to- 
morrow — mounted ?” 

” Of course.” 

” Then try and do something to make yourself fit. 
I shouldn’t perhaps be able to catch you as I did just 
now if you fainted on horseback, and in a London 
crowd ; for we should be under the wing of the troops 
sent to meet the prisoners coming in.” 

” I shall be all right, sir,” said the boy firmly. 

u Go and have a walk in the fresh air, then, now.” 

” Must I ?” said Frank dismally. 

** If you wish to go with me.” 

” Where shall I go, then ?*' 

“ Anywhere ; go and have a turn in the Park.” 

” What, go and walk up and down there, where peo- 
ple may know me !” 

” Yes, let them. Don’t take any notice. Try and 
amuse yourself. Be a boy again, or a man if you like, 
and do as Charles II. used to do : go and feed the 


UNDER THE DARK CLOUD. 


323 


ducks. Well, what’s the matter ? there’s no harm in 
feeding ducks, is there ?” 

“ Oh, no,” said the boy confusedly ; “ I’ll go and 
he hurried out. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN. 

“ O and feed the ducks,” said Frank to himself, 

VJT as he obtained some biscuits and, in his readi- 
ness to obey his elder’s wishes, went slowly toward the 
water-side ; “ how little he knows what a deal that 
means and, almost unconsciously, he strolled on 
down to the side of the canal, thinking of Mr. George 
Selby and Drew, and of the various incidents connected 
with his walks out there, which, with the duel, seemed 
in his disturbed state of mind to have taken place years 
— instead of months — ago, when he was a boy. 

He went slowly on, forgetting all about the biscuits, 
till he noticed that several of the water fowl were swim- 
ming along, a few feet from the bank, and watching 
him with inquiring eyes. 

He stopped short, turned to face the water, which 
was sparkling brightly in the sunshine, and taking a 
biscuit out of his capacious “ saltbox pocket,” he began 
to break it in little bits and throw them to the birds. 

“ Ah, what a deal has happened since we were here 
doing this that day,” thought the boy ; and his mind 
went back to his first meeting with Drew’s father, the 
invitation to the dinner, and the scene that evening in 
the tavern. 

“ Please give me a bit, good gentleman,” said a whin- 
ing voice at his elbow. I’m so hungry, please, sir. 
Arn’t had nothing since yes’day morning, sir/* 

Frank turned sharply, to see that a ragged-looking 
street boy, whom he had passed lying apparently asleep 


FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN. 


325 


on the grass a few minutes before, was standing close 
by, hugging himself with his arms, and holding his rags 
as if to keep them from slipping off his shoulders. He 
wore a dismally battered cocked hat which was a size 
too large for him, and came down to his ears over his 
closely cropped hair. His shirt was dirty and ragged, 
and his breeches and shoes were of the most dilapidated 
character, the latter showing, through the gaping ori- 
fices in front, his dirty, mud-encrusted toes. 

Frank saw all this at a glance ; but the poor fellow’s 
face took his attention most, for it was pitiable, thin, 
and careworn, and would have been white but for the 
dirt with which it was smudged. 

Frank looked at him with sovereign contempt. 

“ So hungry that you can’t stoop down by the water’s 
edge to wash your filthy face and hands, eh ?” 

“Wash, sir?’’ said the lad piteously ; “what’s the 
good ? Don’t matter for such as me. You don’t 
know.’’ 

“ Miserable wretch !’’ thought Frank ; “ what a hor- 
ribly degraded state for a poor fellow to be in.’’ Then 
aloud : “ Here, which will you have — the biscuit or 
this ?” 

He held out a coin that would have bought many bis- 
cuits in one hand, the broken piece in the other. 

“ Biscuit, please, gentleman,’’ whined the lad. “ I 
am so hungry, you don’t know.’’ 

“ Take both,’’ said Frank ; and they were snatched 
from his hands. 

“ Oh, thank you, gentleman,’’ whined the lad, as 
some one passed. “ You don’t know what trouble is 
and he began to devour the biscuit ravenously. 

“ Not know what trouble is !” cried Frank scornfully. 
“ Do you think fine clothes will keep that out ? Oh, I 
don’t know that I wouldn’t change places with you, after 
all.” 

“ Poor old laddie !” said the youth, looking at him 
in a peculiar way, and with his voice seeming changed 


3 2 6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


by the biscuit in his mouth ; “ and I thought he was 
enjoying himself, and feeding the ducks, and not caring 
a bit.” 

“ What !” exclaimed Frank wildly. 

” Don’t you know me, Frank ?” 

“ Drew !” 

“ Then the disguise is as right as can be. Keep still. 
Nonsense ! Don’t try to shake hands. Stand at a dis- 
tance. There’s no knowing who may be watching you. 
Give me another biscuit. I am hungry, really. There, 
go on feeding the ducks. How useful they are. Sort 
of co-conspirators, innocent as they look. I’ll sit down 
behind you as if watching you, and I can talk when 
there’s no one near.” 

Frank obeyed with his face working, and Drew Forbes 
threw himself on the grass once more. 

“ Drew, old fellow, you make me feel sick.” 

“ What, because I look such a dirty wretch ?” 

‘‘ No, no. I’m ill and faint, and it’s horrible to see 
you like this.” 

“ Yes ; not much of a macaroni now.” 

“ We — we were afraid you were dead.” 

“ No ; but I had a narrow squeak for my life. I and 
two more officers escaped and rode for London. I only 
got here yesterday, dressed like this, hoping to see you ; 
but you did not come out.” 

“ No ; this is the first time I have been here since 
you left. How is the wound ?” 

“ Oh, pooh ! that’s well enough. Bit stiff, that’s all. 
I say, is it all real ?” 

“ What ?” 

“ Me being here dressed like this.” 

“ Oh, it’s horrible.” 

” Not it. Better than being chopped short, or hung. 
I am glad you’ve come. I want to talk to you about 
your father and mine. They’ll be in town to-morrow, 
I should say.” 

“ Yes, I know. Tell me, what are you going to do ?” 


FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN. 


327 


“ Do ? We’re going to raise the mob, have a big riot, 
and rescue them. I want to know what you can do to 
help.” 

‘‘We are trying to help in another way,” said Frank 
excitedly. 

“ How ?” 

“ Petitioning the King through the Prince.” 

“ No good,” said Drew shortly. “ There’s no mercy 
to be had. Our way is the best.” 

“ But tell me : you are in a terrible state — you want 
money.” 

“ No. We’ve plenty, and plenty of friends in town 
here. Don’t think we’re beaten, my good fellow.” 

Frank’s supply of biscuit came to an end, and to keep 
up appearances he began to delude the ducks by throw- 
ing in pebbles. 

” There’s one of those spy fellows coming, Frank,” 
said Drew suddenly. ‘‘ Don’t look round, or take any 
- notice.” 

Frank’s heart began to beat, as he thrust his hand 
into his pocket, for his fingers to come in contact with one 
little fragment of biscuit passed over before, and, waiting 
till he heard steps close behind him, he threw the piece 
out some distance, and stood watching the rush made by 
the water-fowl, one conveying the bit off in triumph. 

Frank searched in vain for more, and he was regret- 
ting that he had been so liberal in his use of the pro- 
vender, and racking his brains for a means of keeping 
up the conversation without risk to his companion, 
when about half a biscuit fell at his feet, and he seized 
it eagerly. 

“ He’s pretty well out of hearing, Frank ; but speak 
low. I don’t want to be taken. You’d better move on 
a bit, and stop again. I’ll go off the other way after 
that spy, and work round and come back. You go and 
sit down a little way from the bushes yonder, and I’ll 
creep in behind, and lie there, so as to talk to you. 
Got a book ?” 


3 2 8 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ No,” said Frank sadly. 

“ Haven’t you a pocket-book ?” 

“ Oh yes.” 

“Well, that will do. Take it out after you’ve sat 
down, and pretend to make a sketch of the trees across 
the water.” 

“ Ah, I shouldn’t have thought of that.” 

“You would if you had been hunted as I have. 
There, don’t look round. I’m off.” 

“ But if we don’t meet again, Drew ? I want to do 
something to help you.” 

“ Then do as I have told you,” said the lad sharply ; 
and he shuffled away, limping slightly, while, after 
standing as if watching the water-fowl for about ten 
minutes, and wondering the while whether he was being 
watched, Frank strolled on very slowly in the opposite 
direction, making for a clump of trees and bushes about 
a couple of hundred yards away, feeling that this must 
be right, and upon reaching the end, going on about “ 
half its length, and then carelessly seating himself on 
the grass about ten feet from the nearest bush. 

After a short time, passed in wondering whether 
Drew would be able to get hidden behind him unseen, 
he took out his pocket-book and pencil, and with trem- 
bling fingers began to sketch. Fortunately he had 
taken lessons at the big Hampshire school, and often 
received help from his mother, who was clever with her 
pencil, so that to give colour to his position there he 
went on drawing, a tiny reproduction of the landscape 
across the water slowly growing up beneath his pencil- 
point. But it was done almost unconsciously, for he 
was trembling with dread lest his object there should 
be divined and result in Andrew being captured, now 
that a stricter watch than ever was kept about the sur- 
roundings of the Palace. 

One moment he felt strong in the belief that no one 
could penetrate his old companion’s disguise ; the next 
he was shuddering in dread of what the consequences 


FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN. 


329 


would be, and wishing that Drew had not come. At 
the same time he was touched to the heart at the lad 
running such a risk when he had escaped to safety 
among his London friends. For Drew had evidently 
assumed this pitiful disguise on purpose to come and 
see him. There could be no other object than that of 
trying to see his friend. Would he be able to speak to 
him again ? 

“ I say, they’re keeping a sharp look-out, Franky,” 
came from behind in a sharp whisper, making him start 
violently. 

“ Don’t do that. Go on sketching,” whispered 
Drew ; and Frank devoted himself at once to his book. 
“ That fellow went on, and began talking to another. 
I saw him, but I don’t think he saw me. I say, I shall 
have to go soon.” 

“ Yes, yes ; I want you to stay, Drew ; but pray, pray 
escape !” 

“ Why ?” 

“ Because I wouldn’t for worlds have you taken.” 

There was a few moments’ pause, and then Drew 
spoke huskily. 

“ Thank ye,” he said. “ I was obliged to come and 
see you again. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry 1 
didn’t shake hands with you, Frank.” 

“ Ah ! I’ll slip back to where you are and shake 
hands now,” cried the boy excitedly. 

“ No, no ; pray don’t move. It’s too risky ; I don’t 
want to be caught. I must be with those who are going 
to rescue my father and yours to-morrow. — Think that 
you are shaking hands with me. Now, there’s my 
hand, old lad. That’s right. Yes, I can believe we 
have hold again. Perhaps I shall never see you again, 
Franky ; perhaps I shall be taken. If I am, please 
think that I always looked upon you as a brother, and 
upon Lady Gowan as if I were her son.” 

“ Yes, Drew, yes, Drew,” whispered Frank in a chok- 
ing voice, as he bent over his open book. 


330 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Give my love to dear Lady Gowan, and tell her 
how I feel for her in her great trouble.” 

“Yes, yes, I will,” whispered Frank, as he shaded 
away vigorously at his sketch, but making some curious 
hatchings. 

“ Tell her that there’ll be a hundred good, true men 
making an effort to save Sir Robert to-morrow, and 
we’ll do it. I’d like you to come and help, but you 
mustn’t. It would be too mad.” 

“ No. I’ll come,” whispered the boy excitedly. 

“ No, you will not come,” said Drew. “ You can’t, 
for you don’t know when and where it will be.” 

“ Then tell me,” whispered Frank, with his face very 
close to his paper. 

“ I’d die first, old lad,” came back. “ Lady Gowan 
has suffered enough from what has happened. She 
shan’t have another trouble through me. I tiied to get 
you away ; but I’m sorry now, for her sake. You stop 
and take care of her. Your father said ” 

“ Yes, what did he say ?” 

“ He told me it was his only comfort in his troubles 
to feel that his son was at his mother’s side.” 

“ Ah !” sighed Frank ; and then he uttered a warn- 
ing “ Hist ! Some one coming and he gazed across 
the water and went on sketching, for he had suddenly 
become aware of some one coming from his left over 
the grass, and he trembled lest his words should have 
been heard, for every one now seemed likely to be a 
spy. 

It was hard work to keep from looking up, and to 
appear engrossed with his task ; but he mastered the 
desire, even when he was conscious of the fresh-comer 
being close at hand, his shadow cast over the paper, 
and he knew that he was passing between him and the 
clump of shrubs. 

Then whoever it was paused, and Frank felt that he 
was looking down at the drawing, while the boy’s heart 
went on thumping heavily. 


FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN. 


33i 


” He must have heard me speaking,” he thought ; 
and then he gave a violent start and looked up, for a 
voice said : 

41 Well done, young gentleman. Quite an artist, I 
see.” 

The speaker’s face was strange, and he had keen, 
searching eyes, which seemed as if they were reading 
the boy’s inmost thoughts as he faltered : 

“ Oh no, only a little bit of a sketch.” 

Then he started again, for there was the sound of a 
blow delivered by a stick, a sharp cry, a scuffle, and 
Drew bounded out from the bushes, followed by Frank’s 
old enemy whom he had trapped at the house. But 
Drew would have escaped if it had not been for the 
stranger, who, acting in collusion with Bagot, caught 
the lad by the arm and held him. 

Frank had sprung to his feet, to stand white and 
trembling, and drew sword ready to interfere on behalf 
of his old companion, who, however, began to act his 
part admirably. 

** Don’ t you hit me,” he whined ; ” don’t you hit me.” 

“ You young whelp !” cried Bagot. “ What are you 
doing here ?” 

“ I dunno,” whined Drew. “ Must go somewheres. 
Only came to lie down and have a snooze.” 

“ A lie, sir, a lie. I’ve had my eye upon you for 
hours. I saw you here last night.” 

“ That you didn’t, sir. It was too cold, and I went 
away ’fore eight o’clock.” 

“ Lucky for you that you did, or you’d have found 
yourself in the round house.” 

“ Don't you hit me ; don’t you hit me,” cried Drew, 
writhing. 

** I’ll cut you to pieces,” snarled Bagot. ” I watched 
him,” he continued to the man who held the lad in a 
firm grip in spite of his struggles to get away. V He 
was sneaking up to this young gentleman, begging and 
trying to pick his pocket.” 


332 


IN HONOUR'S CAUSE. 


** That I wasn’t,’' whined Drew. “ I was orfle ’ungry, 
and he was pitching away cake things to the ducks I 
only arksed for a bit because I was so ’ungry — didn't I, 
sir ?” 

“Yes,” said Frank hoarsely. “I gave him a bis- 
cuit.” 

‘‘Then what’s this?” said the man who held him, 
wrenching open Drew’s hand, in spite of a great show 
of resistance, and seizing a shilling. “You managed 
to rob him, then.” 

“ No, no,” said Frank. ” I gave him the money.” 

That disarmed suspicion. 

“ But he’d sneaked round behind you. I watched 
him, and found him here where he had crawled, and lay 
pretending to be asleep. I wager you had not seen 
him.” 

“ No,” said Frank sharply. “ I had not seen him 
since he came up to beg ;” and the boy drew a breath 
of relief, for he had shivered with the dread that the 
man was going to ask him if he knew that Drew was 
there. 

“ Better take your shilling back, sir,” said the man. 

“I? No,” said Frank proudly. “Let the poor, 
shivering wretch go. He wants it badly enough.” 

“ Then thank your stars the young gentleman speaks 
for you,” said Bagot sharply. “ Off with you, and 
don’t you show your face this way again.” 

“ Don't you hit me then,” whimpered Drew. “ Don’t 
you hit me and he limped off, repeating the words as 
he went, while Frank stood looking after him, feeling 
as if he could not stir a step. 

“ That was a clever trick of yours, young gentleman,” 
said Bagot, with a broad grin. “ But I don’t bear any 
malice. King’s service, sir. You see, I can take care 
of you as well as watch.” 

“ Yes. Thank you,” said Frank coldly ; and with a 
sigh of relief he tore the leaf bearing the sketch out of 
his pocket-book, and then turned cold, for he felt that 


FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN. 333 

he had made a false move. The other man was watch- 
ing him. 

“ Spoiled my sketch,” he said, with a half laugh. 
“ Made me start so that my pencil went right across it.” 

Fortunately this was quite true, and it carried con- 
viction. 

“ Don’t tear it up, sir,” said the second man respect- 
fully. “ I should like to take that home to please my 
little girl. She’d know the place. She often comes to 
feed the ducks.” 

The man was human, then, after all, even if he was a 
spy, and Frank’s heart softened to him a little as he 
gave him the sketch. 

“ Thank ye, sir,” said the man, who looked pleased ; 
and the lad stopped and listened to him, feeling that it 
was giving Drew time to get away. 

“ I can tell her I saw a young gentleman drawing it. 
She's quite clever with her pencil, sir ; but she can’t, of 
course, touch this.” 

Frank hesitated for a few moments as to which way 
he should go, inclination drawing him after his friend ; 
but wisdom suggested the other direction, and he 
strolled off without looking back till he could do so in 
safety, making the excuse of throwing in the remains of 
the biscuit Drew had returned to the ducks. 

He had been longing intensely to look back before 
and see if the men were following his friend ; but to his 
great relief he found that they were not very far from 
where he now stood. 

Then he walked quietly back toward the Palace gates 
with his head beginning to buzz with excitement at the 
news he had heard. 

“ They’re going to rescue him to-morrow,” he 
thought “ Ought I to tell Captain Murray ? No ; im- 
possible. He might feel that it was his duty to warn 
the King, It would be giving him a task to fight 
against duty and friendship. I dare not even tell my 
mother, for fear the excitement might do her harm. 


334 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


No, I must keep it to myself, and I shall be there — I 
shall be there.” 

He did not see where he was going, for in his imagi- 
nation he was on horseback, looking on at a mighty, 
seething crowd making a bold rush at the cavalry escort 
round some carriages. But he was brought to himself 
directly after by a bluff voice saying : 

“ Don’t run over me, Frank, my lad. But that’s 
right ; the walk has brought some colour into your 
cheeks.” 

The colour deepened, as the speaker went oft : 

“ I’ve arranged for a quiet horse to be ready with 
mine, my lad, and I have a good hint or two as to 
where we ought to go so as to be in the route. It will 
not be till close on dusk, though.” 

“ Oh, if I could tell exactly the way they will come, 
and the time, and let Drew know, it might mean saving 
my father’s life,” thought Frank. ” I must tell Cap- 
tain Murray then. 

“ No, it would not do,” he mused ; ” for if I did, he 
would not move an inch How to get the news, and go 
and find Drew ! But where ? Ah ! I might hear of 
him from some one at the tavern where they have that 
club.” 

“Why, Frank lad, what are you thinking about?” 
said the captain. ” I’ve been talking to you for ever so 
long, and you don’t answer.” 

“Oh, Captain Murray, ” said the boy sadly, “you 
must know.” 

” Yes, my lad,” said the captain sadly, “ of course I 
know.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


AT THE LAST MOMENT. 

T HERE was not much sleep for the boy that night, 
for he was in the horns of a terrible dilemma. 
What should he do ? He turned from side to side of 
his bed, trying to argue the matter out, till his father’s 
fate, his duty to the King and Prince, the natural desire 
to help, his love for his mother, Captain Murray and 
his duty to the King and friendship for his brother- 
officer and companion, were jumbled up in an inextrica- 
ble tangle with Drew Forbes and the attempt at rescue. 

“ Oh !” he groaned, as day broke and found him 
still tossing restlessly upon his pillow ; “ I often used 
to tell poor Drew that he was going mad. I feel as if I 
were already gone, for my head won’t work. I can't 
think straight, just loo when I want to be perfectly 
clear, and able to make my plans.” 

It would have prostrated a cleverer and more calcu- 
lating brain than Frank’s — one of those wonderful 
minds which can see an intricate game of chess right 
forward, the player’s own and his adversary’s moves in 
attack or defence — to have calmly mapped out the 
proper course for the lad through the rocks, shoals, and 
quicksands which beset his path. As it happened, all 
his mental struggles proved to be in vain ; for, as is 
frequently the case in life, the maze of difficulties shaped 
themselves into a broad, even path, along which the boy 
travelled till the exciting times were past. 

To begin with, nature knew when the brain would 
bear no more ; and just at sunrise, when Frank had 


336 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


tried to nerve himself for a fresh struggle by plunging 
face and a good portion of his head into cold water pre- 
vious to having a good brisk rub, and then lain down 
to think out his difficulty once more, unconsciously 
choosing the best attitude for clear thought, a calm 
and restful sensation stole over him. One moment he 
was gazing at the bright light stealing in beside his 
blind ; the next he was in profound mental daikness, 
wrapped in a deep, restful slumber, which lasted till 
nearly ten o’clock, when he was aroused by a knocking 
at his door, and leaped out of bed, confused and puz- 
zled, unable for a few moments to collect his thoughts 
into a focus and grasp what it meant. 

“ Yes,” he said at last. ” What is it ?” 

“ Will you make haste and go across to Lady Gowan’s 
apartments, sir ?” said a voice. “ She has been very 
ill all night, and wishes to see you.” 

“ Oh !” groaned Frank to himself. Then aloud : 

Yes ; come over directly.” 

He began to dress rapidly, with all the troubles of 
the night magnified and made worse by the mental lens 
of reproach through which he was looking at his con- 
duct. 

“ How can 1 be such a miserable, thoughtless 
wretch !” he thought. “ How could I neglect every- 
thing which might have helped to save my poor father 
for the sake of grovelling here, and all the time my 
mother ill, perhaps dying, while I slept, not seeming to 
care a bit !” 

He had a few minutes of hard time beneath the un- 
sparing lashes he mentally applied to himself as he was 
dressing ; and then, ready to sink beneath his load of 
care, and feeling the while that he ought to have ob- 
tained from Captain Murray the route the prisoners 
would take, and then have found Drew Forbes and told 
him, so as to render the attempt at rescue easier, he 
hurried across the first court, and then into the lesser 
one to his mother’s apartments. 


337 


AT THE LAST MOMENT. 

“ The doctor’s with her, sir,” whispered the maid. 

How is she now ?” asked Frank. 

“ Dreadfully bad, sir. Pray make haste to her ; she 
asked for you again when the doctor came.” 

Frank hurried up, to find the quiet physician who 
attended her and a nurse in the room, while the patient 
lay with her eyes looking dim, and two hectic spots in 
her thin cheeks, gazing anxiously at the door. 

A faint smile of recognition came upon her lips, and 
she raised one hand to her son, and laid it upon his 
head as he sank upon his knees by the bedside. 

“ Oh, mother darling !” he whispered, in a choking 
voice, “ forgive me for not coming before.” 

She half closed her eyes, and made a movement of 
the lips for him to kiss her. Then her eyes closed, as 
she breathed a weary sigh. 

Frank turned in horror to the physician, who bent 
down and whispered to him. 

“ Don’t be alarmed ; it is sleep. She has, I find, 
been in a terribly excited state, and I have been com- 
pelled to administer a strong sedative. She will be 
calmer when she wakes. Sleep is everything now.” 

“ You are not deceiving me, sir ?” whispered Frank. 

“ No. That is the simple truth,” replied the phy- 
sician, very firmly. “ Your mother may wake at any 
time ; but I hope many hours will first elapse. I find 
that she has expressed an intense longing for you to 
come to her side, and, as you saw, she recognised you.” 

“ Oh yes, she knew me,” said Frank eagerly. “ But 
pray tell me — she is not dying ?” 

“ Lady Go wan is in a very serious condition,” replied 
the doctor ; “ but I hope she will recover, and ” 

“ Yes, yes ; pray speak out to me, sir,” pleaded the 
boy. 

“ Her ailment is almost entirely mental ; and if the 
news can be brought to her that the King will show 
mercy to her husband, I believe that her recovery would 
be certain.” 


338 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Then you think I ought to go at once and try to 
save my father ?” 

“ No,” said the physician gravely. “ I know all the 
circumstances of the case. You can do no good by 
going. Leave that to your friends — those high in 
position. Your place is here. Whenever Lady Gowan 
wakes, she must find you at her bedside. There, I will 
leave you now. Absolute quiet, mind. Sleep is the 
great thing. I will come in again in about three hours. 
The nurse knows what to do.” 

The physician went out silently, and Frank seated 
himself by his mother’s pillow, to hold the thin hand 
which feebly clung to his and watch her, thinking the 
while of how his difficulties had been solved by these 
last orders, which bound him there like the endorse- 
ment of his father’s commands to stay by and watch 
over his mother. 

He could think clearly now, and see that much of 
that which he had desired to do was impossible. Even 
if he had set one duty aside, that to the Prince, his 
master, and let his love for and desire to save his father 
carry all before them, he could see plainly enough that 
it was not likely that he would have found Drew Forbes. 
A visit to the tavern club would certainly have resulted 
in finding that the occupants were dispersed and the 
place watched by spies. Then, even if he had found 
Drew, wherever he and his friends were hiding, it was 
not likely that they would have altered their plans for 
any information which he could give them. Every- 
thing would have been fixed as they thought best, and 
no change would have been made. 

Clearer still came the thought that he had no infor- 
mation to give them further than that the prisoners 
would probably be brought into London that evening, 
which way Captain Murray might know, but he would 
never depart from his duty so far as to supply the in- 
formation that it might be conveyed to the King’s ene- 


AT THE LAST MOMENT. 


339 


mies. He was too loyal for that, gladly as he would 
strive to save his friend. 

It was then with a feeling of relief that Frank sat 
there by his mother’s bed, holding her hand, and think- 
ing that he could do no more, while upon the nurse 
whispering to him that she would be in the next room 
if wanted, and leaving him alone, he once more sank 
upon his knees to rest his head against the bed, and 
prayed long and fervently in no tutored words, but in 
those which gushed naturally and simply from his 
breast, that the lives of those he loved might be spared 
and the terrible tribulation of the present times might 
pass away. 

Hour after hour passed, and the nurse came in and 
out softly from time to time, nodding to the watcher 
and smiling her satisfaction at finding her patient still 
plunged in a sleep, which, as the day went on, grew 
more and more profound. 

Then when alone Frank’s thoughts went wandering 
away along the great north road by which the prisoners 
must be slowly approaching London, to find their fate. 
And at such times his thoughts were busy about his 
mother’s friends. What were they doing to try and 
save his father ? 

Then his thoughts went like a flash to his meeting 
with Drew the day before ; and his words came full of 
hope, and sent a feeling of elation through him. The 
rebels were not beaten, as Drew had said, and there 
was no doubt about their making a brave effort to 
rescue the prisoners before they were shut up in gaol. 

And in imagination Frank built up what would in all 
probability be done. Small parties of the Jacobites 
would form in different places, and with arms hidden 
gradually converge upon some chosen spot which the 
prisoners with their escort must pass. Then fit a given 
signal an attack would be made. The escort would be 
of course very strong ; but the Jacobites would be 


340 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


stronger, and in all probability the mob, always ready 
for a disturbance, would feel sympathy with the unfor- 
tunate prisoners, and help the attacking party, or at 
least join in checking the Guards, resenting their forc- 
ing their horses through the crowd which would have 
gathered ; so that the prospects looked very bright in 
that direction, and the boy felt more and more hopeful. 

Twice over the servant came to the door to tell the 
watcher that first breakfast and then lunch was wait- 
ing for him in the room below ; but he would not leave 
the bedside, taking from sheer necessity what was 
brought to him, and then resuming his watch. 

The physician came at the end of three hours as he 
had promised, but stayed only a few minutes. 

“ Exactly what I wished,” he said. “ Go on watch- 
ing and keeping her quiet, and don’t be alarmed if she 
sleeps for many hours yet. I will come in again this 
afternoon.” 

Frank resumed his seat by the bed, and then hastily 
pencilled a few lines to Captain Murray, telling him 
that it would be impossible to leave the bedside, and 
sent the note across by the servant, who brought a 
reply back. 

It was very curt and abrupt. 

“ Of course. I see your position. Sorry, for I should 
have liked him to see you.” 

The note stung Frank to the quick. 

“ He thinks I am trying to excuse myself, when I 
would give the world to go with him,” he muttered. 

A glance at the pale face upon the pillow took off 
some of the bitterness, though, and he resumed his 
watch while the hours glided by. 

At four the physician came again. 

“ Not awake ?” he said ; and he touched his patient’s 
pulse lightly, and then softly raised one of Lady 
Gowan’s eyelids, and examined the pupil. 

” Nature is helping us, Mr. Gowan,” he said softly. 

“ But she ought to have awoke by now, sir ?” 


AT THE LAST MOMENT. 


34i 


“ I expected that she would have done so ; but noth- 
ing could be better. She is extremely weak, and if she 
could sleep like this till to-morrow her brain would be 
rested from the terrible anxiety from which she is suf- 
fering. I will look in once more this evening/’ 

Frank was alone again with his charge, and another 
hour passed, during which the lad dwelt upon the plans 
that had been made, and calculated that Captain Mur- 
ray must be about starting on his mission to meet the 
escort bringing in the prisoners. And as this idea came 
to him, Frank sat with his head resting upon his 
hands, his elbows upon his knees, trying hard to mas- 
ter the bitter sense of disappointment that afflicted 
him. 

“ And he will be looking from the carriage window 
to right and left, trying to make out whether I am 
there !” he groaned. “ Oh, it seems cruel — cruel ! and 
he will not know why I have not come.” 

But one gleam of hope came here. Captain Murray 
might find an opportunity to speak with the prisoner, 
and he would tell him that his son was watching by his 
suffering mother. 

“ He will know why I have not come then,” Frank 
said softly ; and after an impatient glance at the clock, 
he began again to think of Drew and his plans for the 
rescue. 

But now, in the face of the precautions which would 
be taken, this seemed to be a wildly chimerical scheme, 
one which was not likely to succeed, and he shook his 
head sadly as a feeling of despair began to close him in 
like a dark cloud. 

He was at his worst, feeling more and more hope- 
less, as he sat there, with his fece buried in his fingers, 
when a hand was lightly placed upon his head, and 
starting up it was to find that his mother was awake, 
and gazing wistfully at him. 

He bent over her, and her arms clasped his neck. 

” My boy ! my boy !” she said faintly ; and she 


342 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


drew him to her breast, to hold him there for some 
moments before saying quickly : 

“ Have I slept long, dear ?” 

“ Yes, ever since morning, mother.’' 

“ What time is it ?” 

“ About half-past five.” 

“ All that time ?” she said excitedly. “ He must be 
near now. Frank, my boy, the prisoners were to reach 
London soon after dark.” 

“ Yes, mother, I know,” he said, looking at her wist- 
fully, as he held her hand now to his cheek. 

“ Is there any news ?” 

“ No, mother, none.” 

” Oh,” she moaned, ” this terrible suspense ! Frank, 
my darling, you must not stay here. Have you been 
with me all the time I have been asleep ?” 

“ Yes, mother, all. You asked for me." 

“ Yes, my darling, in my selfishness ; but you ought 
to go and get the latest tidings. Frank, it is your duty 
to be there when your father reaches this weary city. 
He ought not to be looking in vain for one of those he 
loves. You must go at once. Do you hear me ? It is 
your duty.” 

” The doctor said it was my duty to watch by you,” 
said Frank, with his heart beating fast, as he wondered 
whether Captain Murray had gone. 

“ With me ? Oh, what am 1, if your being where he 
could see you, if only for a moment, would give him 
comfort in his sore distress V* 

” I was going, mother,” whispered the boy excitedly. 
” Captain Murray was going to let me be with him, 
and he as an officer would have been able to take me 
right up to the escort." 

” Then why are you here ? Oh, go — go at once !” 

“ 1 was to stay with you, mother, so that you might 
see me when you awoke.” he said huskily, the intense 
longing to go struggling with the desire to stay. 

“ Yes, yes, and I have seen you ; but I am nothing 


AT THE LAST MOMENT. 


343 


if we can contrive to give him rest. Go, then, at 
once.'* 

“ But you are not fit to be left.” 

“ I shall not be left,” she said firmly. “ Quick, 
Frank. You are increasing my agony every moment 
that you stay. Oh, my boy, pray, pray go, and then 
come back and tell me that you have seen him. Go. 
Take no refusal ; fight for a position near him if you 
cannot get there by praying, and tell him how we are 
suffering for his sake — how we love him, and are striv- 
ing to save him. Oh, and 1 keep you while I am talk- 
ing, and he must be very near ! Quick ! Kiss me once 
and go, and I will lie here and pray that you may suc- 
ceed.” 

“You wish it — you command me to go, mother?” 
he panted. 

“ Yes, yes, my boy,” she cried eagerly ; and he bent 
down over her, pressed his lips to hers, and darted to 
the door. 

“ Nurse, nurse !” he said hoarsely, “come and stay 
with my mother.” Then to himself as he rushed down 
the stairs ; “ Too late — too late J He must have gone.” 


CHAPTER XL. 


ON THE GREAT NORTH ROAD, 


HE heavy, leaden feeling of despair and disap- 



1 pointment increased as Frank Gowan ran across 
the courtyard, feeling that it was useless to expect to 
find Captain Murray, but making for his quarters in the 
faint hope that he might have been detained, and cud- 
gelling his brains as he ran, to try and find a means of 
learning the route that the escort would take, so that 
he might even then try and intercept the prisoners’ car- 


riages. 


But no idea, not the faintest gleam of a way out of 
his difficulty helped him ; and he felt ready to fling 
himself down in his misery and despair, as he reached 
the officers’ quarters. 

It was like a mockery to him in his agony to see the 
sentry, who recognised him, draw himself up, and pre- 
sent arms to his old captain’s son, and it checked the 
question he would have asked the man as to when Cap- 
tain Murray had passed, for he could not speak. 

“ I must see if he is here,” he thought, as he ran up 
the stairs to the room which had been his prison ; and 
turning the handle of the door, he rushed in and uttered 
a groan, for the room was, as he had anticipated, 
empty. But the bedroom door was closed, and he 
darted to that and flung it open. 

“ Gone ! gone ! gone !” he groaned. “ What shall 
I do ? Will they take him to the Tower ?” 

He knew that there was no saying what might be the 
destination of the prisoners ; but he rushed back to the 
staircase, meaning to go straight to the Tower by some 
means, and then he stopped short and uttered a half 


ON THE GREAT NORTH ROAD. 


345 


hysterical cry, for there was Captain Murray ascending 
the stairs. 

“ Not gone ?” he cried. 

“ No ; but I am just off. I wish you could have 
gone with me, Frank. It would have done your poor 
father good.”’ 

“ I am going. She wishes it, and sends me.” 

“ Hah ! Quick, then. Back to your room.” 

“ Oh, I’m ready,” cried the boy. 

“ Nonsense ! We are going to ride. Your boots and 
sword, boy. I’ll lend you a military cloak.” 

“ But it will be losing time,” panted Frank. 

“ It will be gaining it, my boy. You cannot go 
through a London mob like that. You are going to 
ride with soldiers, and you must not look like a page at 
a levee. Quick !” 

“ You will wait for me ?” 

“ Of course.” 

Frank ran to his rooms, drew on his high horseman’s 
boots, buckled on his sword, which had been returned 
to him, and ran back to where Captain Murray was 
waiting for him with a cloak over his arm. 

‘‘No spurs?” he said. ‘‘Never mind. You will 
have a well-trained horse. I have got passes for two, 
Frank ; and, as it happens, I know the officer of the 
Horse Guards who is in command of the detachment 
going to meet the escort, so that we can get close up to 
the prisoners. Let’s see : you do ride ?” 

“ Oh yes ; my father taught me long ago, anything 
— bare-backed often enough.” 

“ Good. I am glad, boy. It was sorry work going 
without you. But I know why it was. Walk quickly ; 
no time to lose.” 

He hurried his companion to the stables of the Horse 
Guards, where a couple of the men were waiting, and a 
horse was ready saddled. 

“ Quick !” he said to the men. “ I shall want the 
second charger, after all.” 


346 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


It was rapidly growing dark, and one man lit a 
lanthorn, while the other clapped the bit between the 
teeth of a handsome black horse, turned the docile 
creature in its stall, and then slipped on a heavy 
military saddle with its high-peak holsters and curb- 
bit. 

Five minutes after they were mounted and making 
for Charing Cross. 

“Which way are we going?” asked Frank, whose 
excitement increased to a feeling of wild exhilaration, 
as he felt the beautifully elastic creature between his 
knees, with a sensation of participating in its strength, 
and being where he would have a hundred times the 
chance of getting to speak to his father. 

“ Up north,” said the captain abruptly. 

“ North ? Why not east ? They will take him to the 
Tower.” 

“ No. Steady horse. Walk, walk ! Hold yours in, 
boy. We must go at a slow pace till we get to the top 
of the lane.” 

The horses settled down to their walk, almost keep- 
ing pace for pace, as the captain said quietly : 

“ I have got all the information 1 required. No, 
they will not take the prisoners to the Tower, but to 
Newgate.” 

“ Newgate ?” cried Frank ; “ why, that is where the 
thieves and murderers go,” 

“ Yes,” said the captain abruptly. ” Look here, 
Frank. They are not to reach the prison till nine, so 
we have plenty of time to get some distance out. They 
will come in by the north road, and I don’t think we 
can miss them.” 

“ Why risk passing them ?” said Frank. 

“ Because, if we intercept the escort on the great 
north road somewhere beyond Highgate, you will be 
able to ride back near the carriage in which your father 
is, and, even if you cannot speak to him, you will see 
him, and be seen.” 


ON THE GREAT NORTH ROAD. 


347 


“ But it will be horrible ; I shall look like one of the 
soldiers guarding him to his cell.” 

“ Never mind what you look like, so long as your 
father sees that he is not forgotten by those who love 
him.” 

The captain ceased speaking, and their horses picked 
their way over the stones, their hoofs clattering loudly, 
and making the people they passed turn to stare after 
the two military-looking cavaliers in cocked hat and 
horseman’s cloak, and with the lower parts of their 
scabbards seen below to show that they were well 
armed. 

St. Martin’s Church clock pointed to seven as they 
rode by ; and then, well acquainted with the way, the 
captain made for the north-east, breaking into a trot as 
they reached the open street where the traffic was small, 
Frank’s well-trained horse keeping step with its stable 
companion ; and by the shortest cuts that could be 
made they reached Islington without seeing a sign of 
any unusual excitement, so well had the secret been 
kept of the coming of the prisoners that night. 

“ Not much sign of a crowd to meet them, Frank,” 
said the captain, as they went now at a steady trot 
along the upper road. “ Pretty good proof that we are 
in time.” 

“ Why, what is a good sign ?” asked Frank. 

“ So few people about. If the prisoners and their 
escort had passed, half Islington would have been out 
gossiping at their doors.” 

“ Suppose they have come some other way ?” 

“ Not likely. This was to be their route, and at half- 
past eight two troops of Horse Guards will march up 
the road to meet the escort at Islington. That will 
bring out the crowd.” 

Frank winced as if he had suddenly felt the prick of 
a knife, so sharp was the spasm which ran through him. 
For the moment he had quite forgotten the prospect of 
an attempt at rescue ; now the mention of the soldiery 


34 ^ 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


coming to meet the unhappy prisoners and strengthen 
the escort brought all back, and with it the questioning 
thought : 

“ Would Drew’s friends make the venture when so 
strong a force would be there ?” 

“ No — yes — no — yes,” his heart seemed to beat ; then 
the rattle of the horses’ hoofs took it up — no, yes, no, 
yes ; and now it seemed to be the time to tell Captain 
Murray of the attempt that was to be made, or rather 
that was planned. 

“ And if I tell him he will feel that it is his duty as a 
soldier to warn the officer in command of the escort, 
and he will take them at a sharp trot round by some 
other way. Oh, I can’t tell him ! It would be like 
robbing my father of his last chance.” 

Frank felt more and more that his lips were sealed ; 
and as to the danger which Murray would incur — well, 
he was a soldier well mounted, and he must run the 
risk. 

“ As I shall,” thought Frank. “ It will be no worse 
for him than for me. It is not as if I were going to try 
and save myself. I’ll stand by him, weak boy as I am. 
Or no ; shall I not be escaping with my father ?” 

He shook his head the next moment, and felt that he 
could not be of the rescuing party. He must still be 
the Prince’s page, and return to the Palace to bear his 
mother the news of the escape. 

“ For he will — he must escape,” thought the boy. 
“ Drew’s friends will be out in force to-night, and 
I shall be able to go back and tell her that he is 
safe.” 

As they rode on through the pleasant dark night 
Frank thought more of the peril into which his com- 
panion was going, and hesitated about telling him, so 
that he might be warned ; but again he shrank from 
speaking, for fear that it might mean disaster to Drew’s 
projects. 

“ And he has his father to save as well as mine. I 


ON THE GREAT NORTH ROAD. 


349 


can’t warn him,” he concluded. “ I run the risk as 
well as he.” 

He felt better satisfied the next minute, as he glanced 
sidewise at the bold, manly bearing of the captain, 
mounted on the splendid, well-trained charger. 

** Captain Murray can take care of himself,” he 
thought ; and the feelings which were shut within his 
breast grew into a sensation of excitement that was 
almost pleasurable. 

“ Quite countrified out here, Frank,” said the cap- 
tain suddenly, as the road began to ascend ; and after 
passing Highbury the houses grew scarce, being for the 
most part citizens’ mansions. “ Don’t be down-hearted, 
my lad. The law is very curious. It is a strong castle 
for our defence, but full of loopholes by which a man 
may escape.” 

“Escape?” cried Frank excitedly. “You think he 
may escape ?” 

“ I hope so, and I’d give something now if my oaths 
were not taken, and I could do something in the way of 
striking a blow for your father’s liberty.” 

For a few minutes the boy felt eagerly ready to con- 
fess all he knew ; but the words which had raised the 
desire served also to check it. “ If my oaths were not 
taken,” Captain Murray had said ; and he was the very 
soul of honour, and would not break his allegiance to 
his King. 

“ My father did,” thought the boy sadly. Then he 
brightened. “No,” he thought, “the King broke it, 
and set him free by banishing him from his ser- 
vice.” 

“ How do you get on with your horse, lad ? — Walk.” 

The horses changed their pace at the word. The 
hill was getting steep. 

“ Oh, I get on capitally. It’s like sitting in an easy- 
chair. I haven’t been on a horse for a year.” 

“ Then you learned to ride well, Frank. Find the 
advantage of having your boots, though. Fancy a ride 


35o 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


like this in silk stockings and shoes ! — You ought to go 
into the cavalry some day.” 

Frank sighed. 

“ Bah ! Don’t look at the future as being all black, 
boy. Stick to Hope, the lady who carries the anchor. 
One never knows what may turn up.” 

“ No, one never knows what may turn up,” cried the 
boy excitedly ; and then he checked himself in dread 
lest his companion should read his thoughts respecting 
the rescue. But the captain’s next words set him at 
rest. 

“ That’s right, my lad. Try and keep a stout heart. 
Steep hill this. Do you know where we are ?” 

“ Only that we are on the great north road.” 

” Yes. When we are on the top of this hill, we shall 
be in the village of Highgate ; and if it was daylight, 
we could see all London if we looked back, and the 
country right away if we looked forward. I propose to 
stop at the top of the hill and wait.” 

” Yes,” said Frank eagerly. 

“ Perhaps go on for a quarter of a mile, so as to be 
where we are not observed.” 

The horses were kept at a walking pace till the vil- 
lage was reached, and here a gate was stretched across, 
and a man came out to take the toll, Frank noticing 
that he examined them keenly by the light of a lan- 
thorn. 

“ Any one passed lately — horsemen and carriages ?” 
said the captain quietly. 

The man chuckled. 

“Yes, a couple of your kidney,” said the man. 
“ You’re too late.” 

A pang shot through Frank, and he leaned forward. 

“Too late? What do you mean, sir?” cried the 
captain sharply ; and, as he spoke, he threw back his 
horseman’s cloak, showing his uniform slightly. 

“ Oh, I beg your worships’ pardon. I took you for 
gentlemen of the road.” 


ON THE GREAT NORTH ROAD. 


35i 


“ What, highwaymen ?” 

“ Yes, sir. A couple of them went by not ten min- 
utes ago. But I don’t suppose they’ll try to stop you. 
They don’t like catching Tartars. Be as well to have 
your pistols handy, though.” 

“ Thank you for the hint,” said the captain, and they 
rode on. 

“What do you say, Frank?” said the captain. 
“ Shall we go any farther? It would be an awkward 
experience for you if we were stopped by highwaymen. 
Shall we stop ?” 

“ Oh, we cannot stop to think about men like that,” 
said Frank excitedly. 

“ Not afraid, then ?” 

“I’m afraid we shall not meet the prisoners,” said 
the boy sadly. 

“ Forward, then. But unfasten the cover of your 
holsters. You will find loaded pistols there, and can 
take one out if we are stopped — I mean if any one tries 
to stop us. But,” he added grimly, “ I don’t think 
any one will.” 

At another time it would have set the boy trembling 
with excitement ; but his mind was too full of the ob- 
ject of their expedition, and as the horses paced on the 
warning about the gentlemen who infested the main 
roads in those days was forgotten, so that a few min- 
utes later it came as a surprise to the boy when a couple 
of horsemen suddenly appeared from beneath a clump 
of trees by the roadside, came into the middle of the 
road, and barred their way. 

“ Realm ?’’ said one of the men sharply. 

“ Keep off, or I fire,” cried Captain Murray. 

The two mounted men reined back on the instant, and, 
pistol in hand, the captain and Frank went on at a walk. 

“ I don’t think — nay, I’m sure — that those men are 
not on the road, Frank,” said the captain quietly. 
“ That was a password. Realm. Can they be friends 
of the prisoners sent forward as scouts ?” 


35 2 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Do you think so ?” said Frank. 

“Yes,” replied the captain thoughtfully; “and if 
they are, we are quite right. The prisoners have not 
passed, and I should not wonder if there were an 
attempt made to rescue them before they reach town.” 

Frank’s head began to buzz, and he nipped his horse 
so tightly that the animal broke into a trot. 

“ Steady ! Walk,” cried the captain ; and the next 
minute he drew rein, to sit peering forward into the dark- 
ness, listening for the tramp of horses, which ought to 
have been heard for a mile or two upon so still a night. 

“ Can’t hear them,” he said in a disappointed tone. 
“ But we will not go any farther.” 

At that moment Frank’s horse uttered a loud chal- 
lenging neigh, which was answered from about a hun- 
dred yards off, and this was followed by another, and 
another farther away still. 

“There they are,” said the captain, “halting for a 
rest to the horses before trotting down. Forward !” 

They advanced again ; but had not gone far before 
figures were dimly seen in the road, and directly after 
a stern voice bade them halt. 

The captain replied with a few brief words, and they 
rode forward, to find themselves facing a vedette of 
dragoons, a couple of whom escorted them to where, 
upon an open space, in the middle of which was a pond, 
a strong body of cavalry was halted, the greater part of 
the men dismounted ; but about twenty men were 
mounted, and sat with drawn swords, surrounding a 
couple of carriages, each with four horses — artillery 
teams — and the drivers in their places ready to start at 
a moment’s notice. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 

F RANK’S eyes took all this in, and then turned dim 
with the emotion he felt, and for a few moments 
everything seemed to swim round him. His horse, 
however, needed no guiding ; it kept pace with its com- 
panion, and the lad’s emotional feeling passed off as he 
found himself in presence of the officer in command of 
the escort and his subordinates, a warm greeting taking 
place between Captain Murray and the principal officer, 
an old friend. 

“ Don’t seem regular, Murray ; but with this note 
from the Prince, I suppose I shall be held clear if you 
have come to help the prisoners escape,” said the officer 
lightly. 

“ Escape !” said Captain Murray sharply. 

“ No, no ; nonsense, old fellow,” said the dragoon 
officer merrily. “ Of course I was bantering you.” 

“ Yes, 1 know,” said Captain Murray quickly ; “ but 
we were stopped by a couple of mounted men a quarter 
of a mile back.” 

“ Highwaymen ?” 

“ I thought so at first ; but they challenged us for a 
password.” 

“ Well ! These fellows work hand and glove.” 

“ No,” said Captain Murray, I feel sure they were 
scouts, ridden forward to get touch with you, and then 
go back and give warning.” 

‘‘What for? Whom to? You don’t think it means 
an attempt to rescue ?” 


354 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE, 


“ I do,” said Murray firmly. 

“ Thanks for the warning, old fellow,” said the officer 
through his teeth. “ Well, mine are picked men, and 
my instructions are that a strong detachment will be 
sent out to meet us, and vedettes planted all along the 
road, to fall in behind us as we pass. Pity too. What 
madness !” 

Frank’s heart sank as he heard every word, while his 
attention was divided between the two dark carriages 
with their windows drawn up, and he sat wondering 
which held his father. 

“ Yes, madness,” said the captain sadly. 

“ I shall be very glad when my job’s at an end,” said 
the dragoon officer. ” It’s miserable work.” 

“ Horrible !” replied Murray ; and then he turned to 
Frank. “ Hold my rein for a few moments,” he said ; 
and, dismounting, he walked away with the officers, to 
stand talking for a few minutes, while, as Frank sat 
holding his companion’s horse, and watching the well- 
guarded carriages, a distant neigh and the stamping of 
horses told of a strong detachment guarding the rear. 

“If I only dared ride up to the carriages,” thought 
the boy ; and he felt that he did dare, only that it would 
be useless, for without permission the dragoons would 
not let him pass. 

But a light broke through the mental darkness of de- 
spair directly, for Murray came back with the officer in 
command, a stern, severe-looking man, but whose harsh, 
commanding voice softened a little as he laid one hand 
on the horse’s neck, and held out his other to the rider. 

“ I did not know who you were, Mr. Gowan. My 
old friend, Captain Murray, has just told me. Shake 
hands, my lad. I am glad to know the brave son of a 
gallant soldier. Don’t think hardly of me for doing 
my duty sternly as a military man should. I ought 
perhaps to send you both back,’’ he continued in a low 
tone ; “ but if you and Captain Murray like to ride by 
the door of the first carriage, you can, and I will in- 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 


355 


struct the officer and men not to hinder any reasonable 
amount of conversation that may be held.” 

“ God bless you !” whispered Frank, in a choking 
voice. 

“ Oh, don’t say anything, my boy. Only give me 
your word, not as a soldier, but as a soldier’s son, that 
you will do nothing to help either of the prisoners to 
escape. ” 

“ Yes, I give you my word,” said Frank quickly. He 
would have given anything to be near his father and 
speak to him for a few minutes. 

“ That will do. — Murray, we shall go on at a sharp 
trot ; but you are both well mounted, I see.” Then he 
said in an undertone: “I don’t believe they will ven- 
ture anything when they see how strong we are. If the 
rascals do, I shall make a dash, standing at nothing ; 
but at the first threatenings get the boy away. My in- 
structions are that the prisoners are not to escape — 
alive !” 

“I understand,” said Captain Murray; and he 
mounted his horse. 

The next minute an order was given in a low tone ; 
it was passed on, and the men sprang to their saddles. 
Then another order, “ Draw swords !” There was a 
single note from a trumpet ; and as Frank and Captain 
Murray sat ready, the officer in command led them him- 
self, and placed one at each door of the first carriage, a 
dragoon easing off to right and left to make place for 
them. 

Frank’s hand was on the glass directly, and the win- 
dow was let down. 

“ Father !” he cried in a low, deep voice, which was 
nearly drowned by the trampling, crashing of wheels, 
and jingle of accoutrements, but heard within ; and it 
was answered by a faint cry of astonishment, and the 
rattle of fetters, as two hands linked together appeared 
at the window. 

” Frank, my dear boy ! you here ?” 


356 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


The boy could not answer, but leaned over toward 
the carriage with his hand grasped between his father’s. 

“ Hah ! this is a welcome home !” cried Sir Robert, 
cheerily. “ Gentlemen, my son.” 

“ There’s Captain Murray at the other window,” 
gasped out F ank at last. 

“Ah! more good news,” said Sir Robert.^ “Mur- 
ray, my dear old fellow, this is good of you.” 

The prisoner’s voice sounded husky, as he turned his 
head to the right in the darkness. 

“ I can’t shake hands even if you wished to, for we 
are doubly fettered now.” 

“ Gowan, I’m glad to meet you again,” said the cap- 
tain hoarsely. 

“ God bless you, old friend ! I know you are. I see 
now ; you brought Frank here to meet me. Like you, 
old fellow. There, I cannot talk to you. But you know 
what I feel.” 

“ Yes. Talk to your boy,” cried Murray. “ Quick, 
while you can. The order to trot will come directly.” 

“Yes. Thanks,” said Sir Robert; and he turned 
back to his son, who clung to his hands. “ Quick, 
Frank boy. Your mother — well ?” 

“ Very, very ill. Heart-broken.” 

“ Hah !” groaned Sir Robert. 

“ But, father, these handcuffs ? Surely you are 
not ” 

“ Yes, yes. I’m a dangerous fellow now, my boy. 
We are all chained hand and foot like the worst of 
criminals, my friends and I.” 

“ Oh !” groaned Frank. 

“ Bah ! Only iron,” said Sir Robert bitterly. 
“ Never mind them now. Tell me of your mother. 
Are you still at the Palace ?” 

“ Yes ; the Princess— the Prince — will not hear of 
our leaving, and ” 

Then a note from a trumpet rang out, the horses 
sprang forward at a sharp trot, and the dragoon on 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 


357 


Frank’s left changed his sword to his left hand, so as 
to place his right on the rein of the boy’s charger, 
though it was hardly needed, the well-trained horse 
bearing off a little to avoid injury from the wheel, but 
keeping level with the window, so that from time to 
time, though conversation was impossible, father and 
son managed to bridge the space between them and 
touch hands. 

It was fortunate for the lad that he was mounted 
upon a trained cavalry charger, for he had nothing to 
do but keep his seat, his mount settling down at once 
to the steady military trot side by side with the horse 
next to it, and keeping well in its distance behind the 
horse in front, so that the rider was able to devote all 
his attention to the occupant of the carriage, who leaned 
forward with his head framed in the darkness of the 
window, as if pictured in the sight of his son, possibly 
for the last time, for in those hours^ Sir Robert Gowan 
had not the slightest doubt as to what his fate would be. 

On his side, Frank sat in his saddle watching his fa- 
ther’s dimly seen face, but ready to start and glance in 
any direction from which a fresh sound was heard. 

The first time was on reaching the turnpike gate, 
where the toll-taker seemed disposed to hesitate about 
letting the advance guard pass. The result was an out- 
cry, which sent Frank’s heart with a leap toward his 
lips, for he felt certain that the attack had commenced. 
But the foremost men dismounted, seized the gate, lift- 
ed it off its hook hinges, and cast it aside, the troops 
and carriages thundered through, and made the people 
of Highgate village come trooping out in wonder to see 
what this invasion of their quiet meant. 

Then the descent of the hill commenced, with the heavy 
old-fashioned carriages swaying on their C-springs ; but 
no slackening of speed took place, and the artillerymen 
hurried their horses along, as if the load they drew 
were some heavy gun or a waggon full of ammunition. 

Twice over Frank gazed at the foremost carriage in 


358 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


alarm, so nearly was it upset in one of the ruts of the 
ill-kept road ; but the rate at which they were going 
saved it, and they thundered along without accident to 
where the gradient grew less steep. 

There was very little traffic on the road at that time 
of the night, and not many people about, while before 
those who were startled by the noise of the passing 
troops had time to come out the prisoners had gone by. 

Holloway and Highbury were passed, and Islington 
reached, but no sign of an attempt at rescue caught 
Frank’s anxious eyes ; neither was there any appear- 
ance of fresh troops till the head of the escort turned 
down the road which entered the city at the west end 
of Cheapside. But here the boy started, for they 
passed between two outposts, a couple of dragoons fac- 
ing them on either side of the road, sitting like statues 
till the whole of the escort had passed, when they 
turned in after it, four abreast, and brought up the rear, 
but some distance in front of the rear guard. 

At the end of another fifty yards two more couples 
were seen, and at the end of every similar interval four 
more dragoons turned in at the rear, strengthening the 
escort, while it was evident that they had previously 
cleared the road of all vehicles, turning them into the 
neighbouring ways, so that the cortege was enabled to 
continue its progress at the same steady military trot as 
they had commenced with on leaving Highgate. 

Again and again Frank, now growing breathless, had 
hoped that the walking pace would once more be re- 
newed, so as to afford him a chance to speak to his 
father ; but he wished in vain, for, except at two sharp 
turnings, the whole body of dragoons swept along at 
the sharp trot, and without change, saving that as Lon- 
don was neared the men flanking the carriages were 
doubled. 

But though no sign of rescue caught Frank’s eyes, he 
saw that the stationing of the dragoons to keep the way 
and the turning of the traffic out of the road had had 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 


359 


their effect ; for at every step the collection of people 
along the sides and at the windows increased, till, when 
the road changed to a busy London street, there was 
quite a crowd lining the sides. 

“ There will be no rescue,” sighed the lad ; and he 
turned from sweeping the sides of the street to gaze 
sadly at his father, whose face he could now see pretty 
plainly, as they passed one of the dismal street lamps 
which pretended in those days to light the way. 

He could see that, brief as the time had been since he 
last saw his father, his countenance had sadly altered. 
There was a stern, careworn look in his eyes, and he 
looked older, and as if he had been exposed to terrible 
hardships. He noted too that he did not seem to have 
had the opportunity given him of attending to his per- 
son, but had been treated with the greatest of severity. 

The lad’s gioomy musings on the aspect of the face 
which beamed lovingly upon him, the eyes seeming to 
say, “ Don’t be down-hearted, boy !” were suddenly 
brought to an end by a check in their progress, for the 
advance guard, from being a hundred yards ahead, had 
by degrees shortened the space to fifty, twenty, and ten 
yards, and finally was only the front of the column. 
But still they had advanced at a trot, and the officer in 
command sent orders twice over for the vanguard to in- 
crease their distance. 

“ Tell him I can’t,” said the officer in front. “ It can 
only be done by riding over the people.” 

And now the men stationed to keep the way had ut- 
terly failed, the people having crowded in from the side 
streets north of St. Martin’s-le-Grand till the pairs of 
dragoons were hemmed in, and in spite of several en- 
counters with the crowd they were forced to remain 
stationary. 

The check that came was the announcement that the 
trot could no longer be continued, and, perforce, the 
escort advanced at a walk ; while, as Frank glanced 
round for a moment, it suddenly struck him that, save 


360 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


at the windows of the houses, there was not a woman 
to be seen, the crowd consisting of sturdy-looking men. 

The lad had no eyes for the crowd, though. The re- 
lapse into a walk had given him the opportunity for 
grasping his father’s hand again, and Sir Robert said 
to him hurriedly : 

“ My dearest love to your mother, Frank lad. Tell 
her, whatever happens, I have but one thought, and 
that it is for her, that we may meet in happier times.” 

“ Meet in happier times” rang through Frank like a 
death-knell, for he grasped what his father meant, and 
tried to speak some words of comfort, but they would 
not come. Even if they had, they would have been 
drowned by a tremendous cheer which arose from the 
crowd and went rolling onward. 

“ The wretches !” muttered Frank ; and he turned to 
look round, with his eyes flashing his indignation. 
Then, as the cheer went rolling away forward, he re- 
peated his words aloud, unconscious that they would be 
heard. 

“ The wretches ! It is not a sight.” 

‘‘They’re a-cheering of ’em, sir,” said the dragoon 
at his elbow, “ not hooting ’em, poor fellows !” 

Frank darted a grateful look in the man’s eyes, and 
his heart leaped with excitement as the light flashed 
upon him. It was a manoeuvre, and there would be an 
attempt to rescue, after all. 

“ I believe we’re in for a row, sir,” continued the 
man, leaning over to him and speaking in a low voice. 
“ Strikes me the best thing for you to do would be to 
step into the carriage to your friend before the fight 
begins : I’ll hold your horse.” 

“ I !” said Frank sharply. ‘‘ I wouldn’t be such a 
cur.” 

“ Well said, youngster. Then you try and stick by 
me. We shall be in the thick of it, and nobody shall 
hurt you if I can help it.” 

“ Do— -do you think, then, that there will be trouble ?” 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 


3 61 


“Yes, for some of us, sir,’’ said the man. “They 
mean to try and get the prisoners, and the attack will 
be here.” 

Frank was unconscious of a movement behind him, 
till a horseman forced his way in between him and the 
dragoon, and Captain Murray said sharply : 

“Try and ease off, my man.” 

“ Not to be done, sir,” replied the dragoon. 

“ There’s going to be an attempt at rescue, Frank,’’ 
whispered the captain. “ Shake hands with your father 
before we are forced away.’’ 

At that moment word was passed along from the rear, 
running from man to man as they still kept on at a slow 
walk : 

“ Flats of your swords ; drive them back.’’ 

The next minute, just as a fresh cheer was being 
started, the trumpet rang out behind “ Trot !’’ and the 
men put spurs to their horses, and dashed on, driving a 
road through the crowd ; and, amidst a savage yelling 
and hooting which took the place of the hearty cheer 
for the prisoners, the escort literally forced their way 
for another fifty yards, the men in advance striking to 
right and left with the flats of their heavy cavalry 
swords. 

But it was soon evident that they were slackening 
speed, and the trumpet rang out again, but with an un- 
certain sound, for it was nearly drowned by the angry 
yelling which arose. The command was gallop, but the 
execution of the order was walk , and a minute later the 
whole escort came to a stand, literally wedged in, with 
the frightened horses standing shivering and snorting, 
only one here and there trying to rear and plunge. 

“ We’re caught, Frank lad. Think of nothing but 
keeping your seat. Take out a pistol, and point it at 
the first man who tries to drag you from your horse. 
Ah ! I thought so.’’ 

Orders were passed along now to the dragoons to de- 
fend themselves, for efforts were being made to drag 


3 62 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


some of the outside men from their horses. Blades 
flashed on high, cut and point were given, and amidst 
howlings and savage execrations blood began to flow. 

And now, as if by magic, sticks and swords appeared 
among the crowd ; men who had forced their way under 
the horses’ necks, or crept under them, appeared every- 
where ; and amidst a deafening roar, as the seething 
mass swayed here and theie, Frank caught sight of two 
men busy just before him, doing something with knives. 
One of the dragoons noticed it too, and he leaned for- 
ward to make a thrust at one of the two ; but as he 
bent over his horse’s neck a cudgel was raised, fell 
heavily across the back of his neck, and he dropped for- 
ward, and was only saved from falling by a comrade’s 
help. 

“They’ve cut the traces,” said Captain Murray 
hoarsely. “ It’s an organised attempt.’’ 

As he spoke men were rising amongst them ; and be- 
fore Frank could realise how it happened, a dozen filled 
up the little spaces about the carriage, while moment 
by moment the dragoons were being rendered more 
helpless. The blows they rained down were parried 
with swords ; they were dragged from their horses ; 
and, in several cases, helped by their fellows, men 
climbed up behind them, and pinioned their arms. 

Organised indeed it seemed to be, for while the 
greater part of the rioters devoted their attention to 
rendering the great escort helpless, others kept on forc- 
ing their way till they had surrounded the carriages, 
trusting to their companions to ward off the blows 
directed at them, but in too many cases in vain. 

Frank tried his best to remain near his father, but he 
was perfectly helpless, and had to go as his horse was 
slowly forced along, till he was several yards away from 
the carriage door, at which he could still see the pris- 
oner watching him as if thinking only of the safety of 
his boy, while the captain was still farther away, using 
his pistol to keep off attempts made to dismount him. 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 


3^3 


All attempts at combination were getting useless now 
for the troops, and it was every man for himself ; but 
the mob did not seem vindictive only when some 
dragoon struck mercilessly at those who hemmed him 
in, when the result rapidly followed that he was dragged 
from his horse and trampled underfoot. 

Sir Robert was now shut out from his son’s gaze by 
several men forcing themselves to the carriage door, 
and Frank was rising in his stirrups to try and catch 
another glimpse of him, when in the wild swaying 
about of the crowd his horse was forced nearer to Cap- 
tain Murray, an eddy sending the captain fortunately 
back to him, so that their horses made an effort, and 
came side by side once more, snorting and trembling 
with fear. 

“ The men are helpless, Frank lad,” said the captain, 
with his lips to the lad’s ear. “ They can do nothing 
more. They are literally wedged in.” 

“ My father?” panted Frank. 

“ It will be a rescue, my lad.” 

An exultant roar rose now from the dense mass of 
people which filled the wide street, and, sepaiated from 
each other, as well as from their officers, the dragoons 
ceased to use their swords, while the men round them 
who held them fast wedged waved their sticks and hats, 
cheering madly. 

“ Told you so, sir,” shouted some one close behind 
them ; and Frank turned, to see a dragoon, capless and 
bleeding from a cut on his forehead, sitting calmly 
enough on his horse. 

“ Can’t do any more, sir,” said the man, in answer to 
a frown from Captain Murray. ‘‘They’ve got my 
sword. It’s the same with all of us. We couldn’t 
move.” 

The cheering went on, and in the midst of it the car- 
riages began to move, dragged by the crowd, for there 
was not a soldier within a dozen yards. The clumsy 
vehicles were being dragged by hand, and the horses 


3^>4 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


led away toward a side street, while the cheering grew 
more lusty than ever, and then changed into a yell of 
execration. 

“ What does that mean ?” said Captain Murray ex- 
citedly. 

“I don’t know,” said Frank, having hard work to 
make himself heard. “ Let’s try and get to the car- 
riage.” 

“ Impossible, my lad,” said Captain Murray. “ Great 
heavens ! what a gehenna !” 

The yelling rose louder than ever from the direction 
of Cheapside, and directly after the cause was known, 
for a heavy, ringing volley rang out clear and sharp 
above the roar of the crowd, and went on reverberating 
from side to side of the street. 

Hardly had it died away when another rattling volley 
came from the other direction ; and in answer to an in- 
quiring look from Frank, Captain Murray placed his 
lips to the boy’s ear. 

“ The foot guards,” he cried ; “ the mob is between 
two fires.” 

The pressure was now terrible, the crowd yielding to 
the attack from both directions, and yells, wild cries, 
and groans rose in one horrible mingling, as for a few 
minutes the seething mass of people were driven to- 
gether in the centre formed by the carriages ; and from 
where he sat, gazing wildly at the chaos of tossing arms 
and wild faces, whose owners seemed now to be think- 
ing of nothing but struggling for their lives, Frank 
could see men climbing over their fellows’ heads, dash- 
ing in windows, and seeking safety by climbing into the 
houses, whose occupants in many cases reached down 
to drag people up out of the writhing mass beneath. 
In half a dozen places streams could be seen setting into 
the side streets ; and mingled with the attacking party, 
dragoons of the escort, perfectly helpless, were pressed 
slowly along, and in every instance with one, sometimes 
with two men mounted behind them. 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 


365 


Frank caught these things at a glance, while his and 
the captain’s mounts were being slowly forced farther 
away from the carriages, which were once more sta- 
tionary, jammed in by the densest portion of the 
crowd. 

And now, without a thought of his own safety, the 
boy’s heart began to beat high, for not a single dragoon 
was near the prisoners, and some strange movement 
was evidently taking place there, but what, it was some 
moments before he could see. 

It seemed to him that several people there had been 
injured, and that those between him and the first car- 
riage had been crushed to death, while the crowd were 
passing the bodies over their heads face upward toward 
the narrow side street up which an effort had been 
made to drag the carriages. 

As far as he could make out by the lamplight, that 
was it evidently, and so strangely interested was the 
lad, so fascinated by the sight, that he paid no heed to 
a couple more volleys fired to right and left. For the 
moment he hardly knew why he was watching this. 
Then it came home to him as he twice over saw a gleam 
as of metal on one of the bodies which floated as it were 
over a forest of hands and glided onward toward and up 
the side street. 

Look, boy ! Do you see ?” said Captain Murray, 
with his lips close to the lad’s ear. “ They have 
dragged the prisoners out, and are passing them over 
the heads of the crowd.” 

Frank nodded his head sharply without turning to 
the speaker, for he could not remove his eyes from the 
scene till the last fettered figure had passed from his 
sight. 

And now at length the awful pressure began to relax, 
for the half-dozen streams were setting steadily out of 
the main street, while in several spots where dragoons 
had sat wedged in singly two had drifted together. 
Then there were threes and fours, and soon after a lit- 


3(56 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


tie body of about twenty had coalesced, stood in some- 
thing like order, and were able to make a stand. Right 
away toward Cheapside there was now visible beneath 
a faint cloud of smoke, which looked ruddy in the 
torch- and lamplight, a glittering line above the heads 
of the still dense crowd, and Frank grasped the fact 
that they were bayonets. Then turning in the other 
direction he saw, far up the street toward Islington, an- 
other glittering line, showing that a second body of in- 
fantry barred the way. 

And now once more came the sound of firing, and 
Frank's heart resumed its wild beating, for it came roll- 
ing down the side street nearly opposite to him, that up 
which he had seen the prisoners passed, and he knew 
that troops must be guarding the end. 

This was plain enough, for the steady stream passing 
up it grew slower, then stopped ; there was a tremen 
dous shouting and yelling, and the human tide came 
slowly rolling back, then faster and faster, till it set 
right across the main street, and joined one going off in 
the opposite direction. 

Soon after, to the boy's horror, he caught sight of 
one of the prisoners being borne along over the heads 
of the returning crowd ; then of another and another. 
And now, as the two lines of dimly seen bayonets drew 
nearer in both directions, there was once more the 
sound of the trumpet ; and in half a dozen places the 
dragoons began to form up, and, minute by minute 
growing stronger in the power to move, swords were 
seen to flash, and they forced their way through the 
stream, cutting it right across, and hemming in the por- 
tion of the crowd over whose heads the perfectly help- 
less prisoners were being borne. 

This manoeuvre having been executed, the rest proved 
simple. Knot after knot of the dragoons forced their 
way up to what had become their rallying -point, the 
foot guards were steadily advancing up and down the 
main street toward the carriages, and another company 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 367 

was steadily driving the people back along the side 
street up which the prisoners had been borne. 

“ A brave attempt, Frank,” said Captain Murray ; 
“ but they have failed. Come along and, dizzy with 
excitement, the boy felt his horse begin to move be- 
neath him toward the escort which formed a crescent 
round the carriages in double rank, through which they 
passed slowly the men of the crowd they had entrapped, 
till some forty or fifty only remained, whose retreat was 
cut off by the bristling line of bayonets drawn across 
the side street down which they had come. 

Frank had no eyes for the scene behind him, now 
shown by the light of many smoky torches — the road- 
way littered with hats, sticks, and torn garments, tram- 
pled people lying here and there, others who had been 
borne and laid down close to the houses, whose occupants 
were now coming out to render the assistance badly 
enough needed, for even here many were wounded and 
bleeding from sword cuts : of the ghastly traces of the 
firing, of course, nothing was visible there. He did not 
heed either the state of the dragoons, who had not es- 
caped scot free, many of them being injured by sword 
and cudgel ; some had been dragged from their horses 
and trampled ; others stood behind the double line, 
separated from their mounts, which had gone on with 
the crowd ; most of them were hatless, while several 
had had their uniforms torn from their backs. 

Frank had no eyes for all this ; his attention was too 
fully taken up by the proceedings near the carriages, 
where the fettered and handcuffed prisoners — five — were 
being passed in by men of the foot guards, who then 
formed up round the vehicles, toward which the two 
teams of horses were now brought back, the men roughly 
knotting together the cut traces, and fastening them 
ready for a fresh start toward the prison. 

“ One of the prisoners has been carried off, Frank,” 
whispered Captain Murray then ; and in a weak voice 
the lad said : 


3 68 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ My father ?*' 

“ No, my lad ; he is in the second carriage now.” 

The next minute orders were given, and the dragoons 
advanced to clear the way for the carriages, now sur- 
rounded by the bristling bayonets of half a regiment of 
foot guards, who refused passage to Captain Murray 
and the boy, so that they had to be content with riding 
in front of the rear guard of dragoons. 

And now once more the yelling of the crowd arose 
from the direction of Cheapside, where the mob had 
again gathered strongly ; but no mercy was shown. 
The heavy mass of dragoons that forme4 the advance 
guaid had received their orders to clear the way, and, 
finding a determined opposition, the trumpet rang out 
once more, and they advanced at a gallop, trampling 
down all before them for a few minutes till the crowd 
broke and ran. The way was clear enough as at a 
double the Grenadiers came up, and passed round the 
angle at Newgate Street, the escort driving the mob be- 
fore it ; and the wide space at the west end of the Old 
Bailey was reached. 

This was packed with troops, who had preserved an 
opening for the carriages, and into it the Grenadiers 
marched, and formed up round the massive prison gates : 
And now Frank made an effort, with Captain Murray’s 
assistance, to get to the carriage door again for one 
short farewell. But in the hurry and excitement of the 
time, the pass from the Palace and the military uniform 
the captain wore went for nothing, the dense mass of 
Grenadiers stood firm, and very few minutes sufficed 
for the prisoners to be passed in and the gates closed. 
A strong force of infantry was stationed: within and 
without, for the authorities dreaded an attack upon the 
prison ; and the regiment of dragoons that had been 
detailed to meet the escort and guard the road to Isling- 
ton patrolled the approaches, while the rest marched off 
to their quarters amidst the hooting and yelling of the 
crowd. 


THE ATTEMPT AT RESCUE. 


369 


Captain Murray turned off at once into a side street, 
and rode beside Frank for some distance, respecting in 
silence his young companion’s grief, hardly a word 
passing till they reached the Guards’ stables and left 
their horses, which looked, by the light of the men’s 
lanthorns, as if they had passed through a river. Then 
the pair hurried across the Park, feeling half- stunned 
by their adventure, Frank so entirely exhausted that 
he would have gladly availed himself of his friend’s 
arm. 

But he fought hard, and just as the clock was strik- 
ing twelve he made his way to his mother’s room, won- 
dering whether he was to be called upon to face some 
fresh grief. But he found Lady Gowan lying awake, 
and ready to stretch out her hands to him. 

“You saw him, Frank?’’ she whispered; and the 
disorder of his appearance escaped her notice. 

“ Yes, mother ; i rode beside him, and he spoke to 
me.’’ 

“ Yes, yes ; what did he say ?” cried Lady Gowan. 

Frank delivered his father’s loving message, and his 
mother’s eyes closed. 

“Yes,” she said softly, “to meet again in happier 
times.’’ Then, unclosing her eyes again, she moaned 
out, “ Oh, Frank, Frank, my boy, my boy !” and he 
forgot his own weakness and suffering in his efforts to 
perform the sacred duty which had fallen to his lot. 


CHAPTER XL1I. 


AFTER THE FAILURE 


HAT next morning, after a long sleep, the result 



i of exhaustion, Frank Gowan awoke with the hor- 
rors of the previous night seeming to have grown so 
that they could no longer be borne. He hurried across 
to his mother’s apartments, to find from the nurse that 
she was sleeping, and must not of course be disturbed ; 
so he went over to Captain Murray, who received him 
warmly. 

“ Better, my lad ?” he said. 

“ Better ?” cried Frank reproachfully. 

“ I mean rested. Frank lad, we had a narrow escape 
of our lives last night. I hear already that about fifty 
dragoons were more or less injured.” 

‘‘And how many of the people?” said Frank bit- 
terly. 

“ That will never be known, my boy. It is very hor- 
rible when orders are given to fire upon a crowd. 
Many fell, I’m afraid. But there, don’t look so down- 
hearted.” 

“ Have you heard who was the prisoner that es- 
caped ?” 

“ Yes. They have not taken him again yet ; but I 
don’t think he will be able to get right away.” 

“ Not if he can reach the coast ?’* said Frank. 

“ Ah ! he might then. There, Frank lad, I want to 
be true to my duty — don’t tell upon me — but I can't 
help feeling that we had bad luck last night, or some 
one we know might have been the lucky man. ” 


AFTER THE FAILURE. 


3 7i 


Frank caught at his hand and held it. 

“ If I were the King, I’d pack the prisoners off to 
France,” continued Captain Murray. “ I don’t like tak- 
ing revenge on conquered enemies.” 

“ Ah, now you make me feel as if I can speak openly 
to you,” cried Frank. “ Tell me, do you think there is 
still any hope of an escape ?” 

“ There always is, my lad. One thing is very evi- 
dent, and that is that your father and his companions 
have plenty of fiiends in London who are ready to risk 
their lives to save them. Come, don’t be down-heart- 
ed ; we must hope for the best. They have to be tried 
yet. A dozen things may happen. Besides, your fa- 
ther was not one of the leaders of the rebellion. What’s 
the matter with your arm ?” 

“ My arm ? Oh, I don’t know. It’s so stiff and 
painful I can hardly lift it. Yes, I remember now. 
Some one in the crowd struck me with a heavy stick. 
I did not feel it so much then ; it was only numbed.” 

“You had better let the doctor see it.” 

“ Oh no,” replied Frank. “ I have too many other 
troubles to think about. Captain Murray, what shall I 
do ? I must see my father. Give me your advice, or 
come with me to ask permission of the Prince.” 

The captain sat frowning for a few moments, and 
then rose. 

“ Yes,” he said abruptly ; “ come.” 

Frank sprang after him as he moved toward the door, 
and in a few minutes they were in the antechamber, 
where a knot of officers were discussing the proceedings 
of the previous night, but ceased upon their attention 
being directed to the son of one of the prisoners. 

The captain sent in his name as soon as he could ; 
but his efforts to gain an audience were not so success- 
ful as upon previous occasions. There were many wait- 
ing, and the Prince made no exception in Captain Mur- 
ray’s favour. The order of precedence was rigidly ad- 
hered to, and hours had passed away before the attend- 


372 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


ant came to where Frank and the captain were seated 
waiting. 

“ His Royal Highness will see you, sir,” said the 
gentleman-in-waiting. 

Frank sprang to his feet as the captain rose, and 
moved toward the curtained door. 

“ I am sorry,” said the attendant, with a commiserat- 
ing look, “ but his Royal Highness expressly said that 
Captain Murray was to come alone.” 

Frank’s lips parted as a look of anguish came into his 
pale face, and he turned his appealing eyes to the cap- 
tain, who shook his head sadly. 

“ 1 will beg him to see you, my boy,” he whispered. 
“ I look to his seeing you to get his consent.” 

Frank sank back into his seat, and turned his face to 
the window to hide it from those present, and seemed 
to them to be gazing out at the gay show of troops 
under arms and filling the courtyard ; but, as he sat, 
he saw only the interior of the Prince’s room, with Cap- 
tain Murray appealing on his behalf : all else was non- 
existent. 

He had not moved, he had not heard the low buzz of 
eager conversation that went on, new-comers being un- 
aware of his presence. Fortunate it was that he was 
deaf to all that was said, for the fate of the prisoners 
lodged like ordinary malefactors the previous night in 
Newgate was eagerly discussed, and his father’s name 
was mentioned by several in connection with the axe. 

He was still sitting in the same vacant way when, at 
the end of half an hour, a hand was laid upon his 
shoulder, and the captain’s voice said in a low tone, 
” Come.” 

“ He will see me ?” cried Frank, rising quickly. 

* “ Hush ! Keep your sorrow to yourself, as an Eng- 
lishman should,” whispered the captain. “ The room 
is full of people.” 

“ But he will see me ?” 

“ No. Come away,” said the captain quietly. 


AFTER THE FAILURE. 


373 


Frank gave him a defiant look ; then turned away 
and walked straight toward the curtained door, which 
the attendant was about to open to admit another gen- 
tleman to the Prince’s presence. 

Before he was half-way there the captain’s strong 
grasp was upon his shoulden 

“ What are you going to do, boy ?” he said sternly. 

“ See the Prince myself. He must — he shall give me 
leave to go.” 

“ Do you wish to destroy the last chance? Frank, 
for your mother’s sake.” 

” No ; don’t make me struggle before all these people 
to get free,” said the boy firmly ; but as he spoke the 
captain’s last words stood out before him in their real 
significance. 

“ For your mother’s sake !” 

He turned back without another word, and walked 
with his companion out of the room and down into the 
courtyard without a word. 

“ Take me somewhere,” he said, in a strange, dazed 
way. “ My head feels confused. I hardly know what 
I am saying.” 

Captain Murray drew the boy’s hand through his 
arm, and made as if to lead him to his quarters ; but it 
meant passing crowded-together troops, and, altering 
his mind, he walked with him sharply out into the 
Park, till they reached a secluded place where there 
was a seat. 

” Sit down, boy.” 

“ Yes,” said Frank obediently. “ Now tell me, 
please. ” 

“ I was in there long, but there is little to tell you, 
boy,” said the captain, in a harsh, brusque way to con- 
ceal the agony of disappointment he felt. “ I appealed 
again and again to the Prince to give me an order to 
admit us to the prison, but he sternly refused me, and 
I have angered him terribly by my obstinate return to 
the assault. Frank boy, it is like this. The Prince 


374 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


told me that, before your father joined the Pretender, 
he had made a direct appeal, at his wife’s wish, for your 
father’s pardon, and been refused. He says that now, 
after this open act of rebellion, it is impossible for him 
to appeal again. That the King is furious because one 
of the most important prisoners has been allowed to es- 
cape — there is a rumour that it was Prince James Fran- 
cis himself — and that it would be madness to ask for 
any permission, Men who rebel against their lawful 
sovereign have no wives or children ; they are outlaws 
without rights. That it is sad for those who love them, 
but that they must suffer, as they have made others 
suffer by causing so much blood to be shed .’ 1 

“ He said those cruel words?” said Frank, with his 
eyes flashing. 

“ Yes,” said the captain sadly. 

“ Knowing what my poor mother suffers, and my de- 
spair ?” 

“ He was angry, and spoke more hardly than he 
meant, my boy. There is another thing too ; the Prince 
and his Majesty are not on friendly terms. I hear that 
they have quarrelled, and that they parted in great 
anger. Frank, you must wait and hope.” 

“ Wait and hope — wait and hope !” said Frank bit- 
terly. “ Is that the way a son should seek to comfort 
his father, and try to save his life ? Sit still, and do 
nothing but wait and hope. Oh, it is of no use. I 
cannot bear it. I will not stay chained up in this 
dreadful place. I cannot, I will not serve either the 
prince or king who would hurry my father to the 
block. ” 

“ Stop ! Think what you are saying, boy What 
rash thing are you going to do ?” 

“ Rash ? Nothing can be rash at such a time. I am 
going to try and save my father.” 

” Once more, boy — your mother, have you forgotten 
her ?” 

“ No,” said the lad firmly ; ” but I should be forget- 


AFTER THE FAILURE. 


375 


ting her if I made no effort, but sat still and let things 
drift.” 

Captain Murray sighed, and rose from his seat. 

“ Frank,” he said gravely, “ I never had a brother, 
but for years now your father seemed to fill a brother’s 
place with me, and I tell you as a man that there is 
nothing I would not do to save his life. I am a simple 
soldier ; I know my duties well, and if the need arose I 
could go and face death with the rest, feeling that it 
was the right thing to do ; but I am not clever, I am no 
statesman — not one of those who can argue and fence — 
unless,” he said bitterly, “it is with my sword. I 
looked upon you as a mere boy, but over this you are 
more the man than I. You master me. I cannot do 
more than defend myself. Still, I think I am advising 
you rightly when I beg and pray of you to do nothing 
rash. Don’t take any step, I say once more, that* will 
embitter the Prince against you. I will go now. Stay 
here for a while till you grow calmer, and then come to 
my quarters. I feel that I only irritate you, and must 
seem weak and cowardly to you. You will be better 
alone. I, too, shall be better alone. I want to try and 
think, and it is hard work this morning, for I am in ter- 
rible pain. One of my ribs was broken last night in 
that crowd, and at times I am sick and faint.” 

Frank heard his words, but did not seem to grasp 
them, and sat back in his seat with his chin resting upon 
his breast as the captain walked slowly away. Had he 
looked after him, he would have seen that twice over 
he stopped to lean for a few minutes against a tree. 

But the boy neither looked up nor stirred. He sat 
for some time as if completely stunned, till he heard 
steps approaching, and then, with an impatient move- 
ment, he turned a little in his seat, so as to hide his face 
from whoever it was coming by. 

The next moment a familiar voice said distinctly be- 
hind him : 

“ Don’t look up — don’t move or speak. Be at your 


376 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


father’s house at four this afternoon, holding the door 
ajar till I slip in.” 

“ Drew !” ejaculated Frank, in a sharp whisper, as 
he obeyed the order, thrilling the while as if with new 
life infused through his veins ; and his eyes followed 
the tall, slight figure of a jaunty-looking young man, 
dressed in the height of fashion, walking along as if 
proud of his bearing and the gold-headed, clouded cane 
he flourished as he promenaded the Park. 

Drew Forbes, whose life would probably be forfeit in 
those wild times if he were recognised by either of the 
spies who haunted the Palace precincts — Drew, wearing 
no disguise, though changed in aspect by his hair being 
so closely cropped behind ! What his appearance might 
be face to face Frank could not tell. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


A MEETING BETWEEN FRIENDS. 

“ T3 E at your father’s house at four this afternoon, 

X) holding the door ajar till I slip in,” said Frank, 
repeating his old companion’s words, trembling with 
excitement the while, as he watched till the figure had 
disappeared, when a feeling of resentment sent the hot 
blood to his temples. “ No. I will not go. It only 
means more trouble. Oh, how much of it all is due to 
him !” 

“No,” he said a few minutes later. “That is un- 
just. He must have been with the people who attempt- 
ed the rescue last night. I will go. He is brave and 
true, after all. Yes, it is to help again to save my fa- 
ther, and I will be there.” 

It was like a fillip to him, and a few minutes after he 
rose, and went back to the Palace, passing several offi- 
cials whom he knew, all saluting him in a kindly way, 
as if full of sympathy, but not attempting to speak. 

His goal was his mother’s room, and to his surprise 
he found her evidently anxiously expecting him, but 
very calm and resigned in her manner. 

‘‘Frank dear,” she said gently, ‘‘I feel as if it is 
almost heartless of me to seem so, but I am better. I 
will not despair, my own boy, for I feel so restful. It 
is as if something told me that our prayers would be 
heard.” 

“ And with him lying in irons in that dreadful gaol,” 
thought Frank, with a momentary feeling of resent- 
ment — momentary, for it passed away, and he sat with 


37 » 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


her, telling her, at her urgent prayer, of all the pro- 
ceedings of the past night, as well as of his ill success 
that morning. 

He had prayed of her not to press him, but she in- 
sisted, and it was to find that, in place of sending her 
into a fit of despondent weeping, she spoke afterwards 
quite calmly. 

“ Yes,” she said gently, as she raised his hand to her 
cheek and held it there ; “ all these things are the plans 
of men, kings, and princes, with their armies. But how 
insignificant it all seems compared with the greatness of 
the Power which lules all. Frank dearest, we cannot — 
we must not despair.” 

He looked at her wonderingly, and with his heart 
very sore ; but somehow she seemed to influence him, 
the future did not look quite so solidly black as it had 
that morning, and he felt ready to tell her of his en- 
counter with Drew. But fearing to raise her hopes 
unduly on so slender a basis he refrained, and stayed 
with her till the time was approaching foi his visit to 
the house across the Park. Then he left her wonder- 
ing at the feeling of lightness that came over him, and 
not attributing it to the fact that he had something to 
do — something which called his faculties into action to 
scheme and contrive the meeting without being baffled 
by those who dogged the steps of every one about the 
place. 

Hope was inspiring him too again, and he refrained 
from going near Captain Murray, setting quite at 
nought all thought of his duties at the Palace, and 
waiting in his room watching the clock till he felt that 
it was time to go. 

He sat for a few moments longer, trying to come to 
a conclusion which would be the better plan — to go 
carefully to the house after taking every precaution 
against being seen, or to go boldly without once look- 
ing back. 

The latter was the plan he determined to adopt ; but 


A MEETING BETWEEN FRIENDS. 379 


to throw dust in the eyes of any watcher, he placed a 
couple of books under one arm, and determined to 
bring three or four different ones back, so as to make it 
appear that he had been to change some works in his 
father’s library. 

Whether any spy was upon his track or no he could 
not tell, for, following out his plan, he went straight 
away to the house, thundered loudly at the door, and 
dragged at the bell. 

The old housekeeper admitted him with her old pre- 
cautions, and eagerly asked after her ladyship’s health. 
Her next question, whether he had heard from Sir Rob- 
ert, convinced the lad that, living her quiet, secluded 
life, she was in perfect ignorance of the stirring events 
of the past two or three weeks, and he refrained from 
enlightening her. 

“Now, Berry,’’ he said, “go down and stay there 
till I call you up again.’’ 

“ Oh, my dear young master !’’ said the old woman, 
beginning to sob. 

“ Why, what’s the matter, Berry ?” he cried. 

“ Oh, my dear, my dear !’’ she sobbed, with her 
apron to her eyes ; “ it’s glad I am to see you when 
you come, but I do wish you’d stay away.’’ 

“ Stay away ! Why ?” 

“ Because it only means fresh trouble whenever you 
come over here. I don’t care for myself a bit, my 
dear ; but as soon as 1 see your bonny face, I begin to 
quake, for I know it means spies and soldiers coming 
after you, and I expect to see you marched off to the 
Tower, and brought back witxi your head chopped off 
and put up along with the traitors. Don’t do it, my 
dear ; don’t do it.” 

“ Don’t do what ?’’ cried Frank impatiently. 

“ Don’t go running dreadful risks, my dear, and med- 
dling with such matters. Let ’em have which king they 
like, and quarrel and fight about it ; but don’t you have 
anything to do with it at all.’’ 


3 8,0 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ And don’t you try to interfere with matters you 
can’t understand, you dear old Berry,” cried the lad, 
kissing her affectionately. 

“ Ah ! that’s like the dear little curly-headed boy who 
used to come and kiss me, and ask me to melt lumps of 
sugar in the wax candle to make him candy drops. I 
often think now, Master Frank, that you have forgotten 
your poor old nurse. Ah ! I remember when you had 
the measles so badly, and your poor dear little face was 
red and dreadful ” 

“ Yes, yes, Berry ; but I am so busy now. I expect 
some one to come.” 

“ Not the soldiers, my dear ?” 

” No, no, no !” 

“ Nor those dreadful spies ?” 

“ I hope not, Berry. You go down, please, at once, 
and wait till I call you up.” 

“ Yes, my dear, yes,” said the woman sadly. ” You’re 
master now poor dear Sir Robert is away. I’ll go ; but 
pray, pray be careful. It would kill me, my dear.” 

“ Kill you ?” cried Frank. “ What would ?” 

” I should — yes, I would do that ! — I should crawl 
somehow as far as the city to have one look at your 
poor dear head sticking on a spike, and then I should 
creep down a side street, and lay my head on a door- 
step, and die.” 

“ No, you shan’t !” cried Frank, laughing in spite of 
his excitement, as he hurried the weeping old woman to 
the top of the basement stairs. ” I’ll come here prop- 
erly, with my head upon my shoulders. There, there ; 
go down and wait. I don’t think anything will happen 
to-day to frighten you. Never mind ; if any one comes 
I’ll open the door.” 

“ Oh, my dear, I can’t let you do that,” remonstrated 
the old woman. “ What would my lady say ?” 

“ That old Berry was a dear, good, obedient house- 
keeper, who always did what she was told.” 

“Ah!” sighed the old lady, with a piteous smile; 


A Meeting between friends. 381 


“ you always did coax and get the better of me, Master 
Frank ; and 'many’s the time I’ve made you ill by in- 
dulging you with pudding and cakes that you begged 
for. Yes, I’ll go down, my dear ; but I’ll come the 
moment you call or ring.” 

Frank stood watching her till she reached the foot of 
the stairs, and then started and ian across the hall in 
his excitement, for a clock was striking, and he had 
hardly let down the chain and unfastened the door to 
hold it ajar, when there was a step outside, it was 
pushed open, and Drew Forbes glided in, and thrust 
it to. 

“ Frank, old lad !” he cried excitedly, as the chain 
was replaced ; and he seized his companion by the 
shoulders, and shook him. “ Oh, I am glad to see you 
again.” 

“ And I you,” cried the lad, as full of excitement. 

“ Hah ! these are queer times. I am fit to touch 
now. Did you ever see such a miserable, dirty beggar 
as I was that day in the Park ?” 

“ Don’t talk about that, Drew,” cried Frank ; “ come 
upstairs.” 

“ Yes, we may as well sit down, for I’m nearly run 
off my legs. I say, did you get hurt in the crowd ?” 

“ A little,” said Frank eagerly. ” Were you there ?” 

Drew did not reply till they were in the room on the 
first floor looking over the Park ; and then he threw 
himself full length on one of the couches, while Frank 
closed and locked the door. 

“ Not laziness, old lad — fagged, and must rest when 
I can. Was I there ? Of course I was. But oh, what 
a mess we made of it ! Everything was well thought 
out ; but you were too strong for us. We should have 
got them all away if they had not trapped us with the 
foot guards. Some soldier must have planned it all. 
Our fellows fought like lions till they began firing vol- 
leys and drove all before them with fixed bayonets. 
Poor dear old Frank ! I am sorry for you.” 


382 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ And I’m as sorry for you,” said the boy sadly, as 
he pressed the thin, white, girlish hand which held his. 

“ Sorry for me ?” said Drew sharply. “ I’m all 
right.” 

‘‘Then your father was not one of the prisoners ?” 
said Frank eagerly. 

“ Not with them ? Didn’t you see him there ?” 

‘‘ No ; I only saw that two other gentlemen were 
in the carriage with my father. I only had eyes for 
him.” 

‘‘That’s natural enough,” said Drew; ‘‘I hardly 
saw your father till we got them all out of the car- 
riages, chained hand and foot. Oh, what miserable, 
cowardly tyranny ! Gentlemen, prisoners of war, treat- 
ed like thieves and murderers ! Poor fellows ! they 
could do nothing to help themselves.” 

“ But you rescued one,” said Frank. ‘‘Is he safe ?” 

“ Safe as safe,” cried Drew joyously. 

“ Ah !” said Frank with a sigh, “ you are very loyal 
to your Prince.” 

“ I don’t know so much about that, old lad. He does 
not turn out well.” 

“ Not grateful to you all for saving him, while the 
others were recaptured and cast in gaol !” 

Drew sat up suddenly. 

“ I say, what are you talking about ?” he cried. 

“ About your rescuing and carrying off the Prince to 
safety.” 

“ Nonsense ! He was safe enough before. Didn’t I 
say he does not turn out well ?” 

“ Yes ; but you rescued him last night : I heard it at 
the Palace this morning.” 

“ Stuff ! He kept himself safe enough over the water 
without showing his face.” 

“ Then who was it you saved ?” 

” Who was it ? Why, my dear old dad, of course. 
We nearly lost him, for a great tall Guardsman had got 
hold of him by the fetter ring round his waist, only I 


A MEETING BETWEEN FRIENDS. 383 


made him let go. I hope I haven’t killed him, Frank,” 
added the lad between his teeth ; “ but I had a sword 
in my hand — and I used it.” 

4 ‘ Oh, I am glad you have saved your father, Drew.” 

“ And I am sorry we did not save yours, Frank. 
Perhaps if you had been helping us you might have 
done as I did, and he too might have been where your 
King’s people couldn’t touch him. 

“ There, I did not mean to say that,’ ’ continued Drew, 
after a short pause. “ It isn’t kind and straight to you. 
I won’t reproach you, Franky ; for I can’t help feeling 
that you are, as father says, the soul of honour. He 
said I was to tell you how proud he felt that you were 
my best friend — we are friends still, Frank ?” 

“ Of course.” 

“ But I have said some nasty things to you, old lad.” 

“ I can’t remember things like that,” said Frank 
sadly ; ” only that when you did not talk of the other 
side we were very jolly together.” 

” And I couldn’t help it,” said Drew earnestly. 

“ I know it.” 

“ Well, I didn’t come here to talk about that.” 

“ No, it’s all past. Let’s talk about the future.” 

” Yes ; how’s dear Lady Gowan ?” 

“ How can she be, Drew ?” said Frank wearily. 

The tears started to Drew’s eyes, which filled, as he 
caught his friend’s hands in his, 2nd the next moment 
the big drops began trickling down. 

“ There,” he said quietly, ” I’m crying like a great 
girl. I can’t help it when I think about her. I always 
was a weak, passionate, hysterical sort of fellow, Frank, 
and I’m worse than ever now with all this strain. But 
you tell her when you go back that there are some thou- 
sands of good men and true now in London who will 
not stop till they have saved dear Sir Robert, and the 
other brave leaders who are shut up in that wretched 
prison.” 

“ Ah !” sighed Frank ; “ if they only could !” 


3§4 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ But we will,*' cried Drew excitedly. 

“ Well, your father is safe,” said Frank bitterly. “ I 
suppose he will leave the country now ?” 

“ What, and forsake his friends ?” cried Drew proud- 
ly. “ You don’t know my father yet. No ; he says he 
will not stir till your father is safe ; and we’ll have 
them out yet, if we have to burn the prison first.” 

Frank looked at him wildly. 

“ But there are more ways of killing a cat than hang- 
ing it, lad,” continued Drew with a laugh, as he dashed 
away the last of his hysterical tears. “ I look a nice 
sort of a hero, don’t I ? But I came to tell you not to 
be down-hearted, for there are plenty of brains at 
work.” 

“ And I must help !” cried Frank excitedly. 

“ No ; you leave it to the older heads. I should like 
to help too ; but my father says that I am to leave it to 
him. He has a plan. And now I am coming to what I 
came principally for.” 

“ Then you have something else to say ?” 

” Yes. Is your mother still so very ill ?” 

” Yes, very.” 

“ That is bad ; but ill or no, she must make an 
effort.” 

“ Oh, she is making every effort to get my father 
spared,” cried Frank bitterly. 

“I suppose so,” said Drew. “ But look here ; your 
poor father is suffering horribly.” 

“ As if I did not know that !” cried Frank. 

“ And my father says that Lady Gowan must get a 
permit to allow her to go and see him in prison. ” 

“ Yes, of course,” cried Frank excitedly. 

“ Go back then now, and tell her to get leave ; the 
Princess will— must get that for her. They can’t re- 
fuse it.” 

“ No, they dare not !” said Frank, whose pale face 
was now quivering with emotion. 

“ When would she go ?” 


A MEETING BETWEEN FRIENDS. 385 


“ As soon as possible — to-day if she could.” 

” To-morrow would be better,” said Drew quietly. 
” She would go in her carriage, of course.’' 

“ Oh no ; she would go in one of the royal carriages 
— the one used by the ladies of honour.” 

“ Of course. I did not see that.” 

“ I shall go with her,” said Fiank. 

“ No ; she must go to him alone. You saw Sir Rob- 
ert yesterday. My father thought of that. He said it 
would be better.” 

“ I’ll do anything he thinks best.” 

“ Then go back now, and tell her to be calm, and to 
try all she can to be strong enough to see the Princess 
and get the permission.” 

” Yes, I’ll go directly,” said Frank. ” But you ? I 
don’t want you to run any risks.” 

“ And I don’t want to. May I stay here till dark ?” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Then call up your housekeeper, and tell her that I 
am to come and go here just as if I belonged to the 
place.'” 

Frank hesitated for a moment, and then said, “ Yes, 
of course.” 

“ I'll tell you why, Frank, my lad,” said Drew quick- 
ly. “ When your mother leaves the Palace to go to 
Newgate, she must call here first.” 

” Here first ! Why ?” 

“ To see me. I shall be here with a very important 
message from my father to yours. Tell Lady Gowan 
she must come, for it may mean the saving of your fa- 
ther’s life.” 

“ But ” 

“ Don’t raise obstacles, lad,” cried Drew angrily. 
“ Is there anything so strange in her telling the ser- 
vants to drive to her own house and calling here 
first ?” 

“ Then it is to take files and ropes,” whispered 
Frank. 


3 86 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ It is to do nothing of the sort,” said Drew sharply. 
“ Such plans would be childish. Lady Gowan will not 
be asked to do anything to help her husband to escape. 
It can’t be done that way, Frank. Now, then, you are 
man enough to think for her in this emergency. Tell 
her what to do, and she will cling to you and follow 
your advice. Will you do this ?” 

“Will I do it!” cried the lad. “Is there anything 
I would not do to spare her pain ?” 

“ That’s good. Come here, and meet her after- 
wards.” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ Give her plenty of time first. Now ring for your 
old lady, and tell her I am to stay and do as I like. 
And, I say, Frank, I’m starving. I have eaten nothing 
to-day.” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated the lad. “ Well, that will please 
her.” 

“ I must have a key to come and go.” 

“You shall do what you please, only pray be care- 
ful. Don’t get yourself arrested.” 

“ Not if I can help it, lad. Now, be of good heart ; 
we shall save your father yet. It may not be till after 
his trial.” 

“ His trial ?” 

“ Of course. They’ll all be tried and condemned ; 
but we will have them away, and perhaps James Francis 
on the throne even yet.” 

Frank looked at him searchingly, when Drew lay 
down again, as if something was on his mind that he 
could not clearly grasp ; but he said nothing, and rang 
the bell, which was answered directly by the old house- 
keeper. 

“Mrs. Berry,” said Frank, “my friend here 

“ Mr. Andrew Forbes, sir, yes.” 

“ Hi ! Hush ! What are you talking about ?” cried 
Drew, starting up angrily “ I’m not here, my good 
woman. Do you want to send me to prison ?’* 


A MEETING BETWEEN FRIENDS. 387 


“ Oh dear me, oh dear ‘me !” cried the poor woman 
excitedly. “ What have I done now ?” 

“ Nothing, nothing, Berry,” said Frank hastily, “ only 
it must not be known that Mr. Forbes is here. You 
must not mention his name again.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said the woman sadly ; and she 
gave her young master a reproachful look. 

” My friend will have the front-door key, and stay 
here or come and go as often as he likes.” 

“Very well, sir. You are master now,” said the 
housekeeper sadly. 

“ He will be here to meet my mother, who will prob- 
ably come over to-morrow.” 

” Oh, my dear Master Frank !” cried the woman, 
brightening up. ” That is good news.” 

“ So do all you can for my friend. He wants break- 
fast or lunch at once. He’s faint and hungry.” 

“ Oh, I’ll get something ready directly, sir.” 

” And you will be silent and discreet, Berry.” 

” You may trust me, sir ; and I'll do my best to make 
your friend comfortable. Will he sleep here to-night ?” 

“ If he wishes, Berry.” 

“ Certainly, sir ;” and the housekeeper hurried 
away. 

” That’s right,” said Drew quietly. ” I don’t think 
any one saw me come. Now you be off, and don’t fail 
to send Lady Gowan to comfort your poor father in his 
distress.” 

They parted directly after, and Frank hurried back, 
and went straight to his mother’s apartments. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


THE PRISON PASS. 

“ /^vH, my boy !” cried Lady Gowan, “ how long you 

V^/ have been without coming to me.*’ 

Frank looked at her in surprise, as she rose from the 
couch on which she had been lying — dressed. 

“ Yes, yes, dear, I feel stronger now. Have you any 
news ? Where have you been ?” 

“Home,” said Frank, watching her intently. “I 
have seen Drew Forbes.” 

“ Yes, yes ; has he any news ?” 

“ He has seen his father, and says that you are not to 
lose hope.” 

“ All words, words !” sighed Lady Gowan, wringing 
her hands. 

“ And that it is your duty to go and see my father in 
prison.” 

“As if we needed to be told that,” cried Lady Gowan 
scornfully. “ I am going to him directly 1 can get per- 
mission.” 

“ You are ?” cried Frank excitedly. 

“ Of course. The Princess has been here to see me, 
and she has promised that if I am well enough I shall 
have an order to see your father in his prison to-mor- 
row.” 

“ Oh !” cried Frank excitedly, “ that is good news. 
I had come to beg you to appeal to the Princess. Moth- 
er dearest, the Forbeses are our friends, but you must 
not speak about them to a soul.” 

“I, my boy?” cried Lady Gowan, clinging to him, 


THE PRISON PASS. 389 

and speaking passionately ; “ I can speak of no one — 
think of no one but your father now.” 

“ But you must, mother. It is important. They 
have promised to help my father to escape.” 

“ Frank ! — no, no ; it is impossible. Oh, my dear 
boy, you must not join in any plot. You must not — yes, 
yes, it is your duty to try and save his life, come what 
may,” cried Lady Gowan. 

“ Hush, mother ! Pray be calm,” whispered Frank. 
** Now listen. You will not be asked to do anything 
but this.” 

“ Yes, yes. What, dear ?” she said, in a sharp whis- 
per. “No: wait a moment.” 

She made an effort to regain her composure, and at 
last succeeded. 

“ Don’t think ill of me, my boy,” she said. “ 1 
wished to be — I have tried to be — loyal to those who 
have been our truest friends ; but your father’s life is at 
stake, and I can only think now of saving him. Speak 
out — tell me what they wish.” 

“ I hardly know, mother ; but they only ask this : 
that you convey an important message from Andrew’s 
father to mine. ” 

“ Is that all ?” sighed Lady Gowan. 

“ You must drive over to our house when you leave 
here to-morrow ; go in, and you will find Drew waiting 
there. ” 

“Drew Forbes waiting at our house?” said Lady 
Gowan in astonishment. 

“ Yes ; he will have the message from his father for 
you to bear, and you must not fail, for it may mean the 
ruining of his hopes.” 

“ I — I do not understand, my dear,” sighed Lady 
Gowan ; “ but I will do anything now. I would die 
that I might save his life.” 

“But will you be able to go, mother? You are so 
weak. ” 

” The thought that I shall see him and bear him news 


39 ° 


IN HONOUR'S CAUSE. 


that may save his life will give me strength, Frank. 
Yes, I will go. ” 

Frank felt astonished at the change which had come 
over her, and sat answering her questions about his 
proceedings on the previous night, for, in her thirst to 
know everything, she made him repeat himself again 
and again ; but he could not help noticing that all the 
while she was keenly on the alert listening to every 
sound, and at last starting up as her attendant entered 
the room with a letter. 

“ Hah !” she cried, snatching it from the woman’s 
hands. 

“ And the nurse says, my lady, may she come in 
now ?” 

“ No, no ; I cannot see her. Go !” cried Lady 
Gowan imperiously ; and she tore open the letter, as 
the woman left the room. ‘‘ Hah ! See, see, Frank ! 
It is an order signed by the King himself. With the 
Princess’s dear love and condolence. Heaven bless 
her ! But oh ! Look !” 

Frank took the order and read it quickly. 

It was for Lady Gowan, alone and unattended, to be 
admitted to the prisoner’s cell for one hour only on the 
following day. 

“ I must write and appeal again, my boy. You must 
be with me.” 

“ No, mother,” said Frank sadly. “ I was with 
my father last night. This visit should be for you 
alone. ” 

She looked at him half resentfully, and then drew 
him to her breast. 

Before he left her he once more drew from her the 
promise that she would fulfil the instructions he gave 
her, and call in Queen Anne Street, go up, see Drew 
Forbes, and take the message from his father. 

” I don’t understand it,” said the lad to himself, as 
he left his mother’s apartments ; “ but it must mean 
something respecting my father’s prospects of escape — 


THE PRISON PASS. 


39i 


some instructions perhaps. Oh, everything must give 
way now to saving his life.” 

Then thinking and thinking till his brain began to 
swim, he went to his own room, feeling utterly exhausted, 
but unable to find rest. 

In the morning he ran round, and found that the doc- 
tor was with his mother ; and as the great physician 
came out he shook hands with the lad. 

“Yes?” he said smiling ; “ you wish to know whether 
I think Lady Gowan will be able to go and pay that 
visit this afternoon ? Most certainly. Her illness is 
principally from anxiety, and I have no hesitation in 
saying that she would be worse if I forbade her leaving 
her apartments. I will be here to see her in the even- 
ing after her return.” 

Frank entered his mother’s room to find her wonder- 
fully calm, but there was a peculiarly wild look of ex- 
citement in her eyes ; and as the lad gazed inquiringly 
at her, she said softly : 

“ Have no fear, dear. I shall be strong enough to 
bear it. You will come, and see me start ! The car- 
riage will be here at two.” 

“And you will go round home first?” said Frank 
softly. 

“ Yes,” she cried, with the excited look in her eyes 
seeming to grow more intense. “ But, my boy, my 
boy, if I could only have you with me ! Frank dear, 
we must save him. But do you think that these people 
can and will help him ?” 

“ I feel sure, mother,” replied Frank. “ Take the mes- 
sage Drew brings to you, and see what my father says.” 

“ Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “ I feel that they will 
help, for these people are staunch to each other. They 
helped the Pretender to escape.” 

“ It was not the Pretender, mother,” whispered 
Frank ; “ it was Drew’s father. And he has vowed 
that he will not leave England and seek safety until my 
father is safe.” 


39 2 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Then Heaven bless him !” cried Lady Gowan pas- 
sionately. “ I had my doubts as to whether it would 
be wise to bear his message to your father, but I am 
contented now. Leave me, my dearest boy. I want 
strength to bear the interview this afternoon, and the 
doctor told me that, unless I rested till the last moment, 
I should not have enough to carry me through. But 
you will be here ?” 

“ I will be here,” he said tenderly ; and once more 
they parted, Frank going across to Captain Murray, 
and telling him of his mother’s visit. 

“It is too much for her to bear,” he said sadly. 
” Surely she has not the strength !” 

“ You don’t know my mother’s determination,” said 
the boy proudly. “ Oh yes, she will go.” 

“ Heaven give her the fortitude to bear the shock !” 
muttered the captain. “ Can I do anything — see her 
there ?” he asked. 

“ No, no,” said Frank hastily. “ She must go alone. 
The carriage will take her and wait. But you ; how is 
the side ?” 

“ Oh, I have no time to think about a little pain, my 
boy. Frank, we are all trying what we can do by a 
petition to his Majesty. The colonel will present it 
when it is ready. He must — he shall show mercy this 
time ; so cheer up, boy. No man in the army has so 
many friends as your father, and the King will see this 
by the names attached to our prayer.” 

But these words gave little encouragement, and Frank 
felt that in his heart he had more faith in some bold at- 
tempt made by his father’s friends. He thought, more- 
over, from Drew’s manner, that there must be some- 
thing more in progress than he divined, and going back 
to his duties — which he did or left undone without ques- 
tion now — he waited impatiently for the afternoon. 

But never had the hours dragged along so slowly, 
and it seemed a complete day when, at a few minutes 
before two, he went round to his mother’s apartments, 


THE PRISON PASS. 


393 


and found one of the private carriages with the servants 
in plain liveries waiting at the door. 

On ascending to his mother’s room, he found her 
seated there, dressed almost wholly in black, and with 
a thick veil held in her hand. She was very pale and 
stern ; but her face lit up as the boy crossed to her, and 
took her cold, damp hands in his. 

“There,” she said tenderly, “you see how calm I 
am.” 

“ Yes ; but if I could only go with you, mother !” 
he said. 

“ Yes ; if you could onty go with me, my boy ! But 
it is impossible. No, not impossible, for you will be 
with me in spirit all the time. I take your love to your 
father — and — ah !” 

Her eyes closed, and she seemed on the point of faint- 
ing, but, struggling desperately against the weakness, 
she mastered it and rose. 

“ Take me down to the carriage, Frank,” she said 
firmly. “It is the waiting which makes me weak. 
Once in action, I shall go on to the end. You will be 
here to meet me on my return ? It will be more than 
two hours — perhaps three. There, you see I am firm 
now,” 

He could not speak, and he felt her press heavily 
upon his arm, as he led her downstairs and handed her 
into the carriage. 

Then for the first time a thought struck him. 

“ Mother,” he whispered, as he leaned forward into 
the carriage, “ you ought not to go alone. Some 
lady ” 

“ Hush ! Not a word to weaken me now. I ought 
to go alone,” she said firmly. “ I could not take an- 
other there. I could not bear her presence with me. 
It is better so. Tell the men to drive to Queen Anne 
Street first.” 

The door was closed sharply, he gave the servants 
their instructions, and then stood watching the carriage 


394 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


as it crossed the courtyard. But as it disappeared he 
felt that the excitement was more than he could bear, 
and, in place of going back to the Prince’s antecham- 
ber, he hurried out into the Park, to try and cool his 
heated brain, 


CHAPTER XLV. 


captain Murray's news, 



HE walk in the cool air beneath the trees seemed 


X to have the* opposite effect to that intended, for 
the boy’s head was burning, and his busy imagination 
kept on forming pictures of what had passed and was 
passing then. He saw his mother get out of the car- 
riage at their own door, that weak, sorrow-bent form in 
black, and enter, the carriage waiting for her return. 
He followed her up the broad staircase into the half- 
darkened drawing-room, where Drew was waiting to 
give her the important message from his father. 

“ Yes,” thought the boy ; “it will be a letter of in- 
structions what he is to do, for they have, I feel certain 
now, made some plan for his escape. But what ?” 

Then, with everything in his waking dream, he saw 
his mother descend and leave the house again, enter the 
carriage, the steps were rattled up, the door closed, and 
he followed it in imagination along the crowded streets 
to the dismal front of Newgate, where, with vivid clear- 
ness, he saw her enter the gloomy door and disappear. 

“ I can’t bear it,” he groaned, as he threw himself on 
the grass ; “ I can't bear it. I feel as if I shall go 


mad.” 


At last the hot, beating sensation in his head grew 
less painful, for the vivid pictures had ceased to form 
themselves as he mentally saw his mother enter the 
prison, and in a dull, heavy, despairing fashion he re- 
clined there, waiting until fully two hours should have 
passed away before he attempted to return to his moth- 
er’s apartment to await her return. 


39 6 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


The time went slowly now, and he lay thinking of 
the meeting that must be taking place, till, feeling that 
if he lay longer there he should excite attention, he 
rose and walked slowly on, meaning to go right round 
the Park, carrying out his original intention of trying 
to grow calm. 

He went slowly on, so as to pass the time, for he felt 
that it would be unbearable to go back to his mother’s 
room, and perhaps have the nurse and maid fidgeting 
in and out. 

The result was that he almost crept along thinking, 
but in a different strain, for there were no more vivid 
pictures, his brain from the reaction seeming drowsy 
and sluggish. Half unconscious now of the progress of 
time, he sauntered on till the sight of the back of their 
house roused the desire to go and see if Drew were still 
there ; and, hurrying now, he made his way round to 
the front, knocked, heard the chain put up, and as it 
was opened saw the old housekeeper peering out suspi- 
ciously. 

The next minute he was in the hall, with the old 
woman looking at him anxiously. 

“ Did my mother come ?” he said hoarsely. 

“ Poor dear lady ! Yes, my dear, looking so bent 
and strange she could hardly speak to me ; and when 
she lifted her veil I was shocked to see how thin and 
pale she was.” 

; “ Yes, yes ; but did she go up and see *' 

“ Mr. Friend ? Yes, my dear, and stayed talking to 
him for quite half an hour before she came down. She 
did not ring first ; but I saw her from the window 
almost tottering, and leaning on the footman’s arm. 
He had quite to help her into the carriage. Oh, my 
dear, is all this trouble never to have an end ?” 

“ Don’t talk to me, Berry ; but please go down. I 
am going up to see my friend. He is in the drawing- 
room, I suppose ?” 

“ Oh yes, my dear. He has been in and out when I 


CAPTAIN MURRAY'S NEWS. 


397 


have not known, and I heard him talking to himself 
last night. Poor young man ! he seems in trouble 
too.” 

” Yes, yes. Go down now,” said Frank hastily ; and 
as the old woman descended, he sprang up the stairs, 
and turned the handle of the drawing-room door. 

But it was locked. 

He knocked sharply. 

“ Open the door,” he said, with his lips to the key- 
hole. ” It is I — Frank.” 

The key was turned, and he stepped in quickly, to 
stand numbed with surprise ; for Lady Gowan, looking 
ghastly white, stood before him, without bonnet or 
cloak. 

“ Well ?” she cried ; “ tell me quick !” and her voice 
sounded hoarse and strange. 

“ You here !” stammered Frank. “ Oh, I see. Oh, 
mother, mother, and you have been too ill to go.” 

“ No, no. Don’t question me,” she said wildly. ” I 
can’t bear it. Only tell me, boy — the truth — the 
truth !” 

“ You are ill,” he cried. “ Here, let me help you to 
the couch. Lie down, dear. The doctor must be 
fetched. ” 

” Frank !” she cried, “ do you wish to drive me 
mad ? Don’t keep it back. I am not ill. Your father ! 
Has he escaped ?” 

It was some minutes before he could compel his moth- 
er to believe that he knew nothing, and grasped from 
her incoherent explanations that, when she had reached 
the house two hours before, she had come up to the 
drawing-room and found Drew impatiently waiting 
there. 

He had then given her his father’s message of hope 
for his dear fiiend’s safety, and his assurance that a 
couple of thousand friends would save him. Moreover, 
the lad unfolded the plan they had made. 

It was simple enough, and possible from its daring, 


39 8 


IN HONOUR'S CAUSE. 


for at the sight of the King s order the authoiities of 
the prison would be off their guard. 

Lady Gowan was to give up dress, bonnet, and cloak, 
furnish Drew with the royal mandate, leave him to com- 
plete the disguise by means of false hair, and thus play 
the part of the heart broken, weeping wife. 

Thus disguised, he was to go down to the carriage, 
be helped in, and driven to the prison. There he was 
to stay the full time, and in the interval to exchange 
dresses with the prisoner, who, cloaked' and veiled, bent 
with suffering and grief, was to present himself at the 
door when the steps of the gaolers were heard, and 
suffer himself to be assisted back to the carriage and 
driven off. 

“ Yes, but then — then ” cried Frank wildly. “ Oh, 

it is madness ; it could not succeed !” 

“ Don’t, don’t say that, my boy,” wailed Lady 
Gowan. 

“ I must, mother, I must,” cried the boy passionate- 
ly. “ Why did he not confide in me ? I could have told 
him what I dared not tell you.” 

‘‘Yes, yes, what?” cried Lady Gowan. ‘‘Tell me 
now, I can — I will bear it.” 

“ My poor father was fettered hand and foot. It was 
impossible for him to escape.” 

There was a painful silence, which was broken at last 
by Lady Gowan, who laid her hands with a deprecating 
gesture upon her son’s breast. 

“ Don’t blame me, Frank,” she whispered. “ I was 
in despair. I snatched at the proposal, thinking it 
might do some good, when my heart was yearning to 
be at your father’s side. You cannot think what I suf- 
fered.” 

‘‘Blame you?” cried Frank. “Oh, how could I, 
mother ? But I must leave you now.” 

‘‘ Leave me ! At a time like this ?” 

“ Yes, you must bear it, mother. I will come back 
as soon as possible ; but Drew — the carriage ? Even if 


Andrew brings Sir Robert a disguise. 



CAPTAIN MURRAY’S NEWS. 


401 


he succeeded in deceiving the gaolers and people, what 
has happened since ?” 

“ Yes, you must go,” said Lady Gowan, as she fought 
hard to be firm. “ Go, get some news, my boy, and 
come back to me, even if it is to tell me the worst. Re- 
member that I am in an agony of suspense that is kill- 
ing me.” 

Frank hurried out, feeling as if it was all some 
terrible dream, and on reaching the street he direct- 
ed his steps east, to make his way to the great 
prison. But he turned back before he had gone many 
yards. 

“ No,” he thought ; “ everything must be over there, 
and I could not get any news. They would not listen 
to me.” 

He walked hurriedly along, turning into the Park, 
and another idea came to him : the royal stables, he 
would go and see if the carriage had returned. If it 
had, he could learn from the servants all that had oc- 
curred. 

He broke into a run, and was three parts of t tie way 
back to the stable-yard, seeing nothing before him, 
when his progress was checked by a strong arm thrown 
across his chest. 

“ Don’t stop me !” he shouted. — ” You, Captain 
Murray !” 

‘‘Yes, I was in search of you. Have you heard ?” 

“ Heard ? Heard what ?” panted the boy. 

“ Your father has escaped.” 

Frank turned sharply to dash off ; but Captain Mur- 
ray’s strong hand grasped his arm. 

“ Stop !” he cried. “ I cannot run after you ; I’ll 
walk fast. My side is bad.” 

“ Don’t stop me,” cried Frank piteously. 

‘‘I must, boy. It is madness to be running about 
like this. Don’t bring suspicion upon you, and get 
yourself arrested — and separated from your mother 
when she wants you most.” 


402 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


“ Hah !” ejaculated Frank ; and he fell into step with 
his father’s old comrade. 

“ I will not ask you where you are going ; but I sup- 
pose in search of your mother.” 

“ Yes ; she is at home.” 

“ What ? My poor boy ! No. The news is now run- 
ning through the Palace like wildfire. She went to visit 
your father in Newgate this afternoon, as you know. I 
don’t wish to ask what complicity you had in the plot.” 

” None,” cried Frank excitedly. 

“ I am glad of it, though anything was excusable for 
you at such a time. On reaching the prison she was 
supported in by the servants and gaolers. She stayed 
there nearly an hour, and, as the people there supposed, 
she was carried back to the carriage in a chair, half 
fainting.” 

“Ah!” ejaculated Frank, who was trembling in 
every limb. 

“ The servants say that the carriage was being driven 
back quickly by the shortest cuts, so as to avoid the 
main thoroughfares, when in one of the quiet streets by 
Soho three horsemen stopped the way, and seized the 
reins as the coachman drew up to avoid an accident. A 
carriage which had been following came up, and half a 
dozen men sprang from it — one from the box, two from 
behind, and the rest from inside. The footmen were 
hustled away, and threatened with drawn swords by 
four of the attacking party, while the others opened the 
door, as one of them says, to abduct Lady Gowan, but 
the other declares that it was a man in disguise who 
sprang out and then into the other carriage, which was 
driven off, all taking place quickly and before any alarm 
could be given. The startled men then came on to 
state what had occurred ; but almost at the same time 
the tidings came from the prison that Lady Gowan re- 
mained behind, and that it was Sir Robert whom they 
had helped away.” 

“ Oh !” groaned Frank, giddy with excitement 


CAPTAIN MURRAY’S NEWS. 


403 


Come faster, or I must run. She is dying to know. 
I must go and tell her he is safe.” 

“You cannot, you foolish boy,” cried the captain, 
half angrily. “ Do you suppose they would admit you 
to the prison now ?” 

“ Prison !” cried Frank wildly. “ Did I not tell you 
^that she was close here — at our own house ?” 

“ What ! When did you see her ?” 

“ Not a quarter of an hour ago.” 

Captain Murray uttered a gasp. 

‘‘My poor lad!” he groaned. “Poor Rob — poor 
Lady Gowan ! Then it is all a miserable concoction, 
Frank. He has not escaped.” 

“ Yes, yes,” cried the lad wildly. “ You don’t under- 
stand. It was Drew Forbes who went — my mother’s 
cloak and veil.” 

“ What ! And your mother is safe at home ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” cried Frank. “ Don’t you see ?” 

The captain burst into a wild, strange laugh, and 
stood with his face white from agony and his hand 
pressed upon his side. 

“ Run,” he whispered ; “I am crippled. I can go 
no farther. Tell her at once. They will get him out 
of the country safely now. Oh, Frank boy, what glori- 
ous news !” 

Frank hardly heard the last words, but dashed off to 
where he found his mother kneeling by the couch in the 
darkened room, her face buried in her hands. 

But she heard his step, and sprang up, her face so 
ghastly that it frightened him as he shouted aloud : 

“ Safe, mother ! — escaped !” 

“ Ah !” she cried, in a low, deep sigh full of thank- 
fulness ; and she fell upon her knees with her hands 
clasped together and her head bent low upon her breast, 
just as the clouds that had been hanging heavily all the 
day opened out ; and where the shutters were partly 
thrown back a broad band of golden light shot into the 
room and bathed the kneeling figure offering up her 


404 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


prayer of thankfulness for her husband’s life, while 
Frank knelt there by her side. 

It was about an hour later, when mother and son were 
seated together, calm and pale after the terrible excite- 
ment, talking of their future — of what was to happen 
next, and what would be their punishment and that of 
the brave, high-spirited lad who was now a prisoner — 
that Berry tapped softly at the door. 

“ A letter, my lady,” she said, “ for Master Frank 
and as she came timidly forward, the old woman’s eyes 
looked red and swollen with weeping. 

“ For me, Berry ?” cried Frank wonderingly. “ Why, 
nurse, you’ve been crying.” 

“ I’m heart-broken, Master Frank, to see all this 
trouble.” 

“ Then go and mend it,” cried the lad excitedly. 
“ The trouble’s over. It’s all right now.” 

“ Ah ! and may I bring your ladyship a dish of tay ?” 

“ Yes, and quickly,” said Frank, tearing open the 
letter. “Mother!” he cried excitedly, “it’s from 
Drew.” 

It was badly written, and in a wild strain of forced 
mirth. 

“ Just a line, countryman,” he wrote. “ This is to be 
delivered when all’s over, and dear old Sir Robert is 
safe away. Tell my dear Lady Gowan I’m doing this 
as I would have done it for my own mother, and did not 
tell you because you’re such a jealous old chap, and 
would have wanted to go yourself. I say, don’t tell her 
this. I don’t believe they’ll do anything to me, be- 
cause they’ll look upon me as a boy, and I’m reckoning 
upon its being the grandest piece of fun I ever had. If 
they do chop me short off, I leave you my curse if you 
don’t take down my head off the spike they’ll stick it on, 
at the top of Temple Bar, out of spite because they 
could not get Sir Robert’s. Good-bye, old usurper wor- 
shipper. I can’t help liking you, all the same. Try 


CAPTAIN MURRAY’S NEWS. 


405 


and get my sword, and wear it for the sake of crack- 
brained Drew.” 

“ Poor old Drew !” groaned Frank, in a broken voice, 
“ Oh, mother, I was not to let you see all this.” 

“ Not see it ?” said Lady Go wan softly ; and her 
tears fell fast upon the letter, as she pressed it to her 
lips. “ Yes, Frank, you would have done the same. 
But no ; they will not — they dare not punish him. The 
whole nation would rise against those who took ven- 
geance upon the brave act of the gallant boy.” 

That evening the problem of their future was partly 
solved by another letter brought by hand from the Pal- 
ace. It was from the Princess, and very brief : 

“ I cannot blame you for what you have done, for my 
heart has been with you through all your trouble. At 
present you and your son must remain away. Some 
day I hope we shall meet again. 

“ Always your friend.” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


AU REVOIR. 


BOUT a fortnight after the events related in the 



f\ last chapter a little scene took place on board a 
fishing lugger, lying swinging to a buoy in one of the 
rocky coves of the Cornish coast. A small boat hung 
behind in which, dimly seen in the gloom of a soft dark 
night, sat a sturdy-looking man, four others being seat- 
ed in the lugger, ready to cast off and hoist the two 
sails, while, quite aft on the little piece of deck, beneath 
which there was a cabin,- stood four figures in cloaks. 

“ All ready, master,” said one of the men in a sing- 
song tone. ” Tide’s just right, and the wind’s spring- 
ing up. We ought to go.” 

“ In one minute,” said one of the gentlemen in cloaks ; 
and then he turned to lay his hands upon the shoulders 
of the figure nearest to him : ” Yes, we must get it over, 
Frank. Good-bye, God bless you, boy ! We are thor- 
oughly safe now ; but I feel like a coward in escaping/’ 

“ No, Gowan,” said the gentleman behind him. 
“We can do no more. If they are to be saved, our 
friends will do everything that can be done. Remem- 
ber they wish us gone.” 

“ Yes ; but situated as I am it is mad to go. You 
have your son, thanks to the efforts of the Prince and 
Princess. I have to leave all behind. Frank boy, will 
you let me go alone ? will you not come with me, even 
if it is to be a wanderer in some distant land ?” 

Frank uttered a half strangled cry, and clung to his 
father’s hands. 


AU REVOIR. 407 

“ Yes, father,” he said, in a broken voice ; “I can- 
not leave you. I’ll go with you, and share your lot.” 



The departure of the lugger. 


“ God bless you, my boy !” cried the Captain, folding 
him in his arms. “ There,” he said the next minute, in 


408 


IN HONOUR’S CAUSE. 


decisive tones, “ we must be men. No ; I only said 
that to try if you were my own true lad. Go back ; 
your place is at your mother’s side. Your career is 
marked out I will not try to drag you from those who 
are your friends. The happy old days may come for us 
all again, when this miserable political struggling is at 
an end. Frank,” he whispered, “who knows what is 
in the future for us all?” Then quite cheerfully: 
” Good-bye, lad. I’ll write soon. Get back as quickly 
as you can. Say good-bye to Colonel Forbes and 
Drew.” 

” Good bye — good-bye !” cried Frank quickly, as he 
shook hands, and then was hurried into the little boat, 
his father leaning over from the lugger to hold his hand 
till the last. 

That last soon came, for the rope was slipped from 
the ring of the buoy as one of the sails was hoisted, the 
lugger careened as the canvas caught the wind, and the 
hands were suddenly snatched apart. 

The second sail followed, and the lugger seemed to 
melt away into the gloom, as the boat softly rose and 
fell upon the black water fifty yards from the rocky 
shore. 

” Good-bye !” came from out of the darkness, and 
again ” Good-bye !” in the voices of Colonel Forbes and 
his son Drew. 

Lastly, and very faintly heard, Sir Robert Gowan’s 
voice floated over the heaving sea : 

Au revoir /” 

History tells of the stern punishment meted out to the 
leaders of the rebellion, saving to Lord Nithisdale, who 
escaped, as Sir Robert had, in women's clothes, of the 
disastrous fights in Scotland, and the many condemned 
to death or sent as little better than slaves to the 
American colonies. But it does not tell how years after, 
at the earnest prayer of the gallant young officer in the 
Prince’s favourite regiment, Sir Robert Gowan was re- 


AU REVOIR. 


409 


called from exile to take his place in the army at a time 
when the old Pretender’s cause was dead, and Drew 
Forbes and his father were distinguished officers in the 
service of the King of France. 


THE END. 


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